


For Whose Love I Rise and Fall

by Yeetmeaway



Category: Black Widow (Movie 2020), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-01-29 22:04:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 193,900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21417406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeetmeaway/pseuds/Yeetmeaway
Summary: In 1943 Hydra unleashes a deadly virus in its quest to create a new world order-- one that turns its hosts into vampire-like creatures. 75 years later, humanity is on the brink of extinction, protected only by the hunters of SHIELD. Natasha has already lost so much to this-- they are fighting a losing battle and everyone can feel it. But, for the first time in years SHIELD has hope, the possibility of a cure. What else will she give to bring an end to this nightmare?
Relationships: Clint Barton & Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Natasha Romanov & Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 302
Kudos: 450





	1. Shit Meet Fan

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there everyone! This is my first fic like ever, so kudos and comments are appreciated. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I am enjoying writing it.

Chapter 1

In a shelled-out village somewhere in the south of France, Natasha Romanoff was waiting.

Under normal circumstances, she was a patient person, but night missions always had her on edge, and her partner was late. She drew a breath and began to pick at the dirt under her fingernails with a careful air of nonchalance. A minute passed, then another, before she sighed and threw another glance at the door of the abandoned pub where she and her partner were supposed to rendezvous. Part of her was hoping the door would swing open and her partner would finally show up, but there was nothing but the growing shadows of dusk stretching out like tendrils from beneath the crack in the door. She didn’t dare look outside, not when it was this close to dark.

Frustrated, Natasha drew her knife and stabbed it into the bar top, watching it sink into the rotting wood with a satisfying _thunk_. Clint knew what he was doing— most of the time, anyway. But things could go very wrong, very quickly and she couldn’t help but worry about him. If he was caught by the horde…

Suddenly feeling antsy, Natasha studied the dimly lit space of the old pub for what must’ve been the thousandth time. An old poster hung behind the bar depicting some of the first hunters and she studied the figures again, noting a new detail each time. _Captain America and the Howling Commandos_ the poster triumphantly declared. It was well worn, its edges yellowed and curled. The faces of the figures on the poster had long been eroded by time, but she knew them well. Captain America had a genial smile, his commandos looked properly fearsome. They were heroes, martyrs.

The door suddenly jerked open and Natasha pried her blade from the countertop and whirled to face the source of the sound. Clint’s stupid, cocky smirk greeted her. He had an air of playfulness about him, like he was delighted he had startled her. “Nat,” he greeted, taking in her sour expression. “Did I catch you sleeping?” he asked, as he barred the door shut and peered outside through a crack in the curtains.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Hardly.”

“That’s how you die, you know, getting caught sleeping,” he continued.

Natasha huffed at the older man and sheathed her blade. “Were you followed?”

“I don’t think so,” he said, carefully moving the curtain back in place. “But they sure are active tonight, it took longer than I thought to get here.”

Clint strode over to the bar top and placed his hunter field book on the table. The book detailed everything the hunters knew about the infection and was a staple for planning reconnaissance and supply missions. Every hunter team kept a copy for field missions. Natasha must’ve read the introduction a hundred times. When she was younger, she used to read it to herself like a prayer.

_If you are reading this_, the book read, _there is hope. Do not forget thi_s…

The world was grim and had been for a very, very long time. But she etched these words onto her heart, keeping them inside her like a silent promise. _There is hope._

“What’s Fury got for us this time?” Natasha asked as she sidled up to her partner.

Clint snorted humourlessly as he flipped through the pages. “You’re gonna love this.”

His sarcasm made her smirk despite her unease and Clint flipped through to the end pages, skimming over the notes of Stark and Carter, two hunters who were instrumental in documenting the signs and symptoms of the HYRDA virus, its spread, and the best way to destroy an infected individual. Along with Captain America, Stark and Carter founded the SHIELD organization to fight the infection and protect civilians as it quickly spread and ravaged Europe. Clint stopped on Carter’s notes on infestation and fumbled in his jacket pocket for the map provided for their mission. He produced it with a flourish and glanced at Natasha with a wry smile. A smile spread across her face in return. He never failed to amuse her.

“Fury wants us to investigate the old SHIELD stronghold.”

Natasha leaned closer to the map, her heart racing. When HYDRA’s virus was unleashed, it was 1943 and the world was in the middle of a war. The virus was meant to be a bioweapon that would turn the tide of the war. Instead, it destroyed everything, turning its hosts into undying, blood-thirsty monsters. The man who unleashed it called it natural selection, the path to new world order. Germany and all its occupied territory were the first to fall, Italy and Spain followed, and soon after, and the rest of Europe began to topple like dominoes. The first SHIELD stronghold became a beacon of hope as bit by bit, Europe transformed into something horrifying.

Carter oversaw SHIELD’s operation while Stark worked on researching and developing a vaccine for the HYDRA virus. After two years, Stark’s research seemed promising, but the lab was compromised when an infected test subject got loose. Stark was killed in the ensuing battle and Carter barely made it out alive. It had taken SHIELD years to recover after their base and labs were destroyed and as the infection closed in around them, the organization struggled to just stay afloat. In the decades following, Carter made it her personal mission to try and retrieve Stark’s notes on a potential formula for a possible cure for Hydra’s virus, but the infected horde had become entrenched in the former stronghold and it was declared a lost cause. SHIELD didn’t have the resources to continue exploring the fallen facility, not when it was occupied by the horde of infected. It was seventy-five years of this seemingly endless, bitter war, and every year that passed was one step closer to humanity’s destruction.

“What makes him think that there’s a chance at recovering them now?” Natasha glanced at Clint. His lips were pursed into a tight line. Something had him worried. Clint indicated to the horde movements on the map, marking them with his finger.

“Intelligence says that horde movement around the old stronghold is the most they’ve seen in years. The villages neighbouring the base,” Clint pointed to the nearby clusters on the map, “are mostly ruins and survivors were either massacred or have fled to SHIELD protected encampments.”

“Right, so hordes are moving where the food is…” Natasha said as she surveyed the map.

“Which means the base is exposed. We knew there was a nest there, but as their food supply moves further and further away, they’re being forced to move on.”

This much was obvious, but something in Clint’s tight expression made Natasha uneasy. It should be a good thing that the base was exposed for the first time in years. “So, what’s the trouble, Clint?”

Her partner sighed and rubbed his neck. “We think one of the Old Ones might be there.”

Natasha went cold.

In the years since the start of the outbreak, many of the initial victims were slain by hunters or had descended into complete madness. But not all. The Old Ones appeared every so often. Most of the hunters who encountered them didn’t live to talk about it and survivors of horde massacres had wildly varying accounts of these creatures. Not even Carter or Stark wrote much about them. The mindless infected hordes were awful enough, but the Old Ones, they were something… more. The scraps of intelligence SHIELD pieced together suggested Old Ones may be intelligent. They appeared as leaders and rarely engaged in direct conflict, only watched it unfold before moving in to have their share of blood and chaos. Most of the stories about them noted that they could organize and control the hordes in ways that SHIELD couldn’t fully comprehend. If an Old One was in control of the old SHIELD compound, then the danger of this mission increased tenfold.

“Oh,” was all Natasha could think to say.

Clint sighed and gave her a wry smile. “We’re not on an infiltration mission, just reconnaissance,” he reminded her.

Natasha nodded, but the notion didn’t make her feel any better. Clint gave her arm a reassuring squeeze before he shut his book and returned it to his pack.

“We’ll wait for dawn when they aren’t as active, then we’ll make our move.”

Natasha nodded and then set to work surveying her gear. She inspected her blades and axes for damage before holstering them. Anxiously, she re-braided her hair, trying to smooth the flyaway hairs out of her face. This was a small operation; they were at least a day’s hike from the safety of their own SHIELD basecamp. The movement of the infected made it difficult to traverse the area. Despite the relatively intact roads snaking the countryside, driving was out of the question. Resources were incredibly scarce, and noise attracted the infected which meant most hunter teams moved on foot. But they had the advantage of sunlight on their side, at least.

The infected were powerful, but HYDRA’s disease produced a severe sensitivity to sunlight, which caused burns in its hosts. If left exposed long enough, sunlight caused catastrophic damage to the muscles and skin of an infected. On her first mission, Natasha and Clint encountered an infected so far gone, so driven by madness, that it followed them into the sun.

It was like watching a man burn alive. Its skin blistered, peeling, and bursting open to reveal the red muscle underneath as it stumbled after them. Eventually it flagged, tendons and muscles tearing and snapping before it collapsed just in front of where she and Clint stood, looking like it had been flayed. It shrieked and howled in terrible agony, but the thirst for blood it felt was more powerful than its suffering. It still clawed and snapped at her, teeth grinding weakly as it reached for her, its writhing body in ruins. It was a mercy when Natasha sunk her axe deep into its skull.

“We’ll need as much daylight as we can use,” Clint continued. “If there is anything there, anything at all, it might bring us one step closer to a cure.”

Natasha steeled herself, giving Clint a sharp nod. This was as good a chance as any and if it gave them enough information to run a mission to explore the fallen base, then it was worth it. They settled in for the night, taking shifts to keep watch.

* * *

When the darkness of the night finally gave way to the faint pink promise of dawn, they headed out. The early morning air was sharp and cool on Natasha’s skin as they headed for the old facility. It wasn’t far— about a half-hour hike from the pub they had slept in. As they approached, picking their way through the broken roads and rubble of an old town, the ruin of the old SHIELD facility came into view. It was overgrown, windows bricked and boarded over. It was a sore on the peaceful countryside that surrounded it. Natasha thought it looked like a mausoleum as it sat, quiet and unassuming, hiding the horrors within its walls. The sight of it looming against the otherwise peaceful countryside sent a rush of goosebumps over her and she checked her gear again to assuage the feeling of unease.

They circled the building for an entrance but found none. Doors were bolted shut, walls were caved in and crumbling, creating unstable little windows into a darkness that they dared not enter. As the sky lightened, the sun promising safety, Clint and Natasha regrouped.

“I’m not going back with nothing,” Natasha said, eyes fixed on the crumbling facility.

Clint frowned and rubbed his neck. She knew he didn’t want to go back empty handed either, but they were just tasked with gathering what information they could about the facility and its condition, they weren’t meant to enter. Clint looked like he was considering leaving, so Natasha took him by the arm.

“We can at least find an entrance,” Natasha offered, before Clint could call the whole thing off. “We don’t have to go in, let’s just find our entrance.”

Clint sighed and his gaze flicked back to the eerie compound. He weighed their options carefully before looking back to his partner.

“Fine,” he said. “But that’s all. We don’t know what else might be in there, Nat.”

Natasha agreed. They would need a larger team for a full-scale exploration of the base. She was eager, but that didn’t supersede her deep-seated fear of the infected. They had to be smart about this.

Around the back of the building, part of the roof had collapsed in, sloping down toward the earth. It was too high for either of them to reach, but Natasha was able to scurry up the wall and grab onto some of the exposed rebar to haul herself up after she convinced Clint to give her a boost.

From her position, Natasha took in their surroundings. The countryside had been reclaimed by nature after all these years. Shelled-out homes and buildings stood like skeletal remains in the encroaching green. Nature was doing its best to erase all traces of humanity, swallowing entire towns, vehicles, roads. It was always strange to see these signs of the time before. Sometimes she wondered what it must’ve been like to live before all of this, but nothing ever came to mind. This was all she had ever known. Natasha shook herself and turned her attention back to her task. Surveying the rooftop, she noted the areas cracking and eroding. She would have to watch her step up here.

“What do you see?” Clint called in a loud whisper from the ground below.

She scanned the roof. There were a few points of possible entry, small holes that could be knocked in. Natasha skirted the edge, treading carefully.

“It’s pretty unstable up here,” she replied quietly, “but there are some promising entrances.” She made her way over a step, inching out of view from Clint.

“Be careful, Natasha,” she could hear him call from below. He couldn’t disguise the edge of worry in his voice.

Natasha carefully toed her way further along the roof, staying close to the edge where it seemed most stable. From her position, she spotted it on the far side— an opening.

“There’s a gap on the other side of the roof,” she said, unwilling to go any further.

Clint’s reply drifted distantly from the ground below. “Great, now get down and let’s go. I’m calling it.”

Satisfied, Natasha turned and began to inch her way back when she heard it— the low guttural wheeze of an infected rattling from the room below her. She froze, listening hard, silently hoping that they were still dormant and they could leave without incident. The guttural wheeze turned into a chorus of snuffling, then snarls as the horde began to come to life. 

“Clint!” she shouted, making her way back to the collapsed section she had climbed up on.

Natasha stepped forward enough to see four infected sprint from the recesses of the collapsed ruin toward her partner.

Shit. 

They streamed into the morning light, blistering, and burning, mouths frozen wide in feral screams of rage. How long had it been since they fed? Clint drew his bow, putting down the first infected with a precise shot through its eye. Natasha unsheathed her blade as they rushed him. It was too high for her to jump down onto the rubble below without risking hurting herself. Instead, she drew her axe, wound up and hurled the blade, striking one in the back as the other tackled Clint to the ground.

Shit! 

Two of the infected turned their attention to her, pulling away from Clint as he struggled with the third.

“Natasha!” he cried, barely keeping the thing from tearing out his throat with his bow.

The infected shrieked, black spittle flying from their bloody mouths as they charged at her, easily scaling the rubble she had struggled to climb. Withdrawing her second axe, Natasha rushed forward to strike as the first infected leaped up to meet her, its mouth open wide in a frenzied shriek.

She swung and splintered its cheek, displacing its eye as it bugged from its socket and sent a splatter of gore and bone onto the sun-bleached concrete of the roof. The first creature fell, taking her axe with it as the other sprang up to attack, scrabbling at her leg with its claws as it struggled to climb onto the narrow edge with them. Natasha pulled back, but the first infected recovered and grabbed her, her axe still lodged in its face. Its cold fingers clamped around her wrist, squeezing painfully. 

She cried out furiously, scrambling to free her blade from its holster at her waist as she jerked away from the infected. The creature that held her lunged but stopped suddenly when an arrow pierced through its chest. A cold splatter of infected blood painted her chest as the infected screeched and gurgled. Its grip on her slackened. Natasha didn’t have time to react before the infected was pulled from the roof by the cable attached to the arrow. It tumbled to the rubble below, skull shattering like a broken bottle when it landed. 

Clint, bloodied and frantic, rushed forward to ensure it was dead. Natasha barely glimpsed him before the second infected was on her, teeth snapping viciously. She was forced backward, retreating onto the unstable rooftop behind her. Finally drawing blade from her waist, Natasha braced as the infected lunged and she sidestepped, narrowly avoiding its claws. From below she heard the shriek of more infected as they entered the sun.

There were too many of them. The horde forced Clint back as he fought and picked them off. She could hear him calling for her, but she was focused on the creature stumbling after her. Its skin was a mess of blisters, blackening and searing the longer it stayed exposed in the sunlight. But it was too crazed by hunger to care. It tackled Natasha.

She barely got her blade up, catching it in the solar plexus, she just missed its heart. She screamed furiously and twisted in its grip, sloughing off layers of its skin in bloody sheets as she did. She took a step backward and a sharp crack rang out. Before Natasha was aware of what was happening, she was falling. She could hear Clint scream for her, see the rush of the sky as she disappeared into the darkness of the building below.

Natasha awoke in a daze. She slowly curled her hand into a fist and moved her head. When she tried to open her eyes, her head swirled, and she thought she’d be sick. Natasha breathed for a moment; the sunlight warm on her face as she collected herself. She was still here. Still fighting. Slowly she opened her eyes to stare up at the distant patch of brilliant blue above her. The roof had caved, and she had fallen through into the room below. She frowned and began to take stock of her injuries. Everything hurt and it was hard to determine whether anything was broken. She rubbed her forehead with a little groan and sucked in a steadying breath of the dank, musty air of the facility. Her heart throbbed in her temples and slowly, she exhaled and looked around.

The room was dark, windowless, except for the hole she had made when she fell. The infected that attacked her was gone and she wasn’t sure if it fell with her or stayed on the rooftop. Either way, she was grateful it wasn’t here. She couldn’t be sure how long she had been out for, but it seemed like late morning now. A pile of fabric seemed to have broken her fall. She lifted the cloth and inspected it more closely. The SHIELD logo was faintly emblazoned on its disintegrating, bloodied surface. Perhaps this was what they used as the med bay laundry facility. Natasha dropped the old fabric and pushed herself to sit. Her head swirled dangerously, and she listened to her pulse pounding in her ears for a moment.

Clint was gone. There was no way he would still be here— he didn’t see where she fell, and he couldn’t climb up to try and look for her. That was assuming he wasn’t dead. Natasha sighed and gently rotated her stiff neck and shoulders, trying to shake off the disorientation that gripped her. She hoped that Clint made it back. She hoped that he wasn’t stupid enough to come back for her. Distantly, faintly, she still hoped that maybe he would. She sat in the beam of light, aching and weak. Tears stung her eyes as hopelessness settled around her, her breaths echoing in the darkness of the empty room. 

She sighed and shifted to lean back against the wall for a moment to centre herself. She focused on her breath, letting the sunlight warm her skin. Closing her eyes, Natasha tried to plan her next steps. It was morning now and the creatures would be dormant until nightfall. While the number of the horde that were housed here had decreased, she had to assume that there was still a nest of them here. She calmed down, taking slow, even breaths. Her first priority was to assess her injuries, then she could think about escape. But her thoughts were interrupted by a shift in the room. Between her breaths, she heard something else breathing.

She was not alone.

Her eyes flew open to search the darkness around her and, to her horror, she saw a pair of eyes reflecting the sunlight filtering through the cracks in the roof. A low growl echoed around her.

“Oh, fuck,” she whispered.

Natasha reached for the knife sheathed on her ankle and hastily pulled it free. Maybe she had taken the infected down with her after all. She was sore and beaten, disoriented, and likely injured in a way she had yet to discover. Her one advantage was that she was in the sunlight. The creature hadn’t cared before, but it seemed to be wary of it now. She breathed, waiting for it to make its move. It would surely lunge for her, try to slice her open with its claws, but there was nothing. It seemed content to watch her, waiting. Something felt off about this. Natasha pointed her blade at it when it moved a step closer, still keeping to the shadows.

“Try it, asshole,” she muttered, never tearing her gaze from the glowing eyes in the darkness.

A dim chuckle enveloped her, and goosebumps raced down the back of Natasha’s neck. The horde didn’t normally laugh. The glinting eyes moved further back into the room, and she lost sight of the creature. She paused, her heart pounding in her ears as she strained to listen for any sign of movement. This wasn’t just the mindless horde. Dread settled deep in her chest and she fought to suppress it. Searching the room wildly, Natasha’s eyes flitted fearfully around the darkness of the room for the Old One waiting to kill her.

A cool puff of breath ghosted across her shoulder and she wildly stabbed in the direction she felt it from. From the darkness, a hand caught her wrist and squeezed. She could feel the bones grinding, threatening to snap under the pressure. She cried in pain and struggled, clawing at the thing’s grip on her, but it just squeezed harder and until Natasha let the blade clatter to the floor beside her with an agonized howl.

The creature held her wrist firmly as it pulled her from the safety of the sunlight, guiding her into the darkness with it. Natasha struggled and fought as she was slowly dragged from the safety of the sunlight. She felt its claws dig into her flesh, just barely keeping her skin from puncturing and panic rose in her. Her eyes struggled to adjust, and she felt the creature lean in. Its icy breath on her jawline made her shiver. This was it. This is how she would die.

Natasha didn’t want to whimper, didn’t want to go out like a scared, wounded animal. In all the ways she had imagined herself dying, she was brave, going out in a blaze of glory. But when she felt its tongue and sharp teeth grazing the skin of her throat she couldn’t help the frightened gasp that escaped her as she trembled with exhaustion and fear. Was this how it would end? Clint would be pissed. Hell, she was pissed.

Fuck this!

A burst of adrenaline flooded through her and she lunged away from the creature, its talons tearing into the skin of her arm and wrist. With her free hand, Natasha fumbled for the dropped knife on the floor. The creature snarled and dove for her just as she found the hilt and, as quickly as she could, she thrust the blade upward into the creature’s chest. It let go of her with a pained snarl.

Natasha pushed herself backward, struggling to stand. She scrambled to her feet but yelped as a sharp pain shot up her leg like lightning and she tumbled backwards. The creature thrashed for her in the darkness, howling wildly. She must’ve missed the heart. Natasha scurried into the sunbeam as the creature reached for her. It recoiled as its fingers entered the light, skin burning in the sun.

Natasha smiled wanly. She heard the creature gurgling and panting heavily as it moved around the room, pacing like a predatory animal in the darkness. “Sounds like I got you in the lung,” she said as she slid into a more comfortable position against the wall. The thing slowly pulled out her knife and tossed it to the floor by her feet. It landed just out of the light. “Gee, thanks,” she mumbled as she inspected the punctures in the skin on her bloody wrist. She felt the thing standing there, just out of the light, watching her. She could see the shine of its eyes in the darkness.

Its wound was likely already healing; one of the abilities of the infected. And while she was safe now, it only had to wait until nightfall to tear her limb from limb. Natasha didn’t have that much time. She could feel that she was weakened from her injuries, and felt the thing was becoming agitated by the smell of her blood in the air. She closed her eyes to think.

She was out of weapons, save for the knife by her feet. She had some kind of injury to her leg— it might be a fracture or a sprain— and now she was bleeding, which was one of her bigger concerns. Natasha breathed deeply. First problem, and most important, was the thing in the room waiting to kill her. Her only hope of addressing any of the other problems was to first: acquire the knife, and second: kill the creature.

It seemed simple, in theory. Natasha sighed and met the unblinking glowing gaze of the thing in the dark with a wry, humourless smile. Testing to see what it would do, she inched the knife toward her with her foot, glancing toward the eyes watching her. The thing hadn’t moved. She flicked her gaze back to the knife, feeling at the hilt with her toes. Her foot hovered on the edge of the sunlight, toes dipping into the shadows. 

She darted her gaze back to the creature. It was watching, gaze fixed on her face. Was it toying with her? She paused for a moment, reassessing her options. She didn’t want to be played with. There was no way that she was going to be entertainment for this thing. With a frown, Natasha sat back and waited, just to spite it. The air in the room shifted, and she could feel its irritation as it realized what she was doing.

They remained in this standoff. Natasha nonchalantly withdrew her emergency med kit and addressed the torn skin of her wrist, pointedly watching the thing in the dark as she did. The thing growled at her, becoming increasingly agitated with her unwillingness to play its game. But Natasha was content to make it wait. If this was her last stand, she would have to play it smart. She tied off the bandage on her wrist and sat back to watch the creature. If it was late morning now, then she would have about nine hours of daylight to work with, assuming she was able to move with the sunbeam as the sun set. With each passing minute, the creature would heal and become stronger while she weakened and bled. Clearly it was tiring of her, she could see it shifting impatiently as it watched her, and she could count on its next attack being more brutal and to-the-point. Natasha sighed and rested her head against the wall. As far as she saw it, that knife was still her only hope. There was no way around that.

After another long pause, Natasha made her move, shooting her leg out to pull the blade toward her. When she felt it under her boot, she dragged it toward her quickly, but the creature was faster. It lunged for her outstretched leg and grasped her with its talons, sinking them into her flesh. Natasha howled as it dragged her violently into the darkness, its hand searing in the sunlight.

The creature loomed over her, illuminated by the sunbeam. She could clearly see its teeth bared wide into a sneering smile. Eyes wide, she met the creature’s gaze in faint recognition. It was him… the first hunter… the first avenger. The words confusedly escaped her lips. “Captain America?”

A flicker of confusion crossed the creature’s face. There was a beat, an awful pause where Natasha was certain that her throat would be torn out and the walls would be decorated with arterial spray. A whimper threatened to escape her.

Instead, the thing grasped her shoulders and shook her violently and her head snapped back into the concrete floor. Small black moths fluttered on the edges of her vision. Her head swirled and her eyes rolled. The thing was close, its face inches from hers. Her ears rang and she felt its cold breath on her face. Distantly, she could swear it spoke, and a small giggle bubbled up at the absurdity of it all, before everything went black.


	2. A Dreadful Darkness Closes In

Slowly, Natasha came back into hazy awareness. The afternoon sun burned high above her, the light comforting and warm on her skin as it filtered through the gap in the ceiling. Her tongue felt like lead in her mouth, and her head throbbed dully. Natasha inhaled and groaned weakly, trying to remember where she was. A faint sense of urgency plagued her that she struggled to place. 

It took her a moment, but it came back to her. She was trapped in the old SHIELD facility with an Old One. _Captain America_— her foggy brain supplied. Her fingers twitched, and she felt something cool brush her palm. She didn’t want to, but she peeled her eyes open, only to find the creature lapping the blood from her fingers.

Natasha gasped and curled her fingers into a fist. The creature, annoyed, huffed and moved to lick her bloody wrist instead. With a disgusted cry, she tried to pry her arm from its grip but was too weak. She felt the thing smile against her skin as it resumed sipping at her puncture wounds.

Her body was still half in the sunlight, suggesting it couldn’t wait to drag her into the darkness to start drinking from her. When its teeth grazed her forearm, Natasha hissed and struggled, but it only gripped her harder, its shaggy blonde hair falling into its face as it fed on her blood. The sight filled her with revulsion. How could this thing be Captain America? He was SHIELD’s shining star, their first hunter. He was a hero.

Carter and Stark both spoke of him in their notes, writing of his efforts to fight the horde as it spread, save civilians and refugees, and keep HYDRA out of major cities. He had fought for three years, keeping the infection at bay until he was ambushed and killed. Or at least, that’s what everyone was told.

She seethed, unable to look away as the thing turned from her wrist, irises shining bright white against black sclera, mouth stained red with her blood, to look at her. Its gaze flitted up and down her body, taking her in with detached coldness. This thing may have been Captain America before, but it wasn’t him now. It then released its grip on her and sat back as she snapped her arm close to her body to inspect the damage. The bleeding had stopped. 

SHIELD’s research division discovered that infected saliva contained hemostatic properties. If they weren’t immediately torn apart, creatures could save their victims for later by helping wounds to coagulate, allowing them to slowly feed. Natasha shuddered, disgusted by the prospect of being this thing’s snack. Was that why it hadn’t killed her yet?

The creature’s dim chuckle enveloped her once more, before it sat back, crossed its legs, and considered her for a moment. Was it toying with her? She watched it intently, sure that it would suddenly lunge forward and tear out her throat, but its expression was imperceptible. There was an awful moment of silence between them before the thing spoke.

“What did you call me?” Its voice was quiet and gravelly with disuse. The words seemed to land in front of her with a dull thud.

Natasha blinked, certain her pounding head had made her imagine that it spoke. For all anyone knew, the infected _couldn’t_ speak. “Wh—” was all she could manage. She gritted her teeth and pushed herself up to brace on her elbows, a million questions racing through her mind.

She studied it, searching for answers. Its skin was pale, nearly translucent, revealing the black spidery veins just below the surface around its eyes. Its feet were bare, and it was clothed in what looked like the remains of SHIELD-issue uniform, chest stained a blackish-red where she had driven the knife into its chest. It studied her as she studied it, its face was locked into a cool, impassive stare as it awaited her response.

“You’re— You can speak?” She felt stupid. This whole thing was unbelievable. The creature’s eyes hardened, flickering in the dim light. She had not answered favourably. Natasha hauled herself up to sitting, her head spinning with the effort. She needed to collect herself. She breathed deeply in and out, feeling the cool floor beneath her palms. The sensation steadied her, and she was able to push through her foggy state and think.

The creature’s unwillingness to just kill her told her something very, very important about it—she had important information, and that was likely the only thing sparing her life. Natasha exhaled. She needed to be careful about how she proceeded. Statuesque, the thing silently stared, waiting.

“Captain America,” she said, meeting its gaze, “that’s what I called you.”

The creature leaned in ever so slightly, studying her. “What do they mean?” it growled, “These words?”

Natasha swallowed. When a person was infected, they lost all semblance of their humanity, including their memories. She remembered the look of bewilderment on her father’s bloody face, screaming at her and her mother as if they were strangers. “It’s you,” she replied. “That was what hunters called you.” Still muddled, she paused for a moment to recall Carter’s words about him. “Rogers…” she said slowly. “Steve Rogers. That was your name.”

It relaxed and leaned back again. “Steve,” it said as if trying the word on. Catching the ‘v’ on its lip with its sharp teeth, its eyes flickered as if recalling something. A hollow chuckle accompanied the faint smile that ghosted across its face.

Natasha couldn’t help the chill that raced down her spine. As she watched him, an awful thought occurred to her. If this SHIELD facility was protected by one of the Old Ones, was it him this whole time? Had he been down here for all these years? The notion settled on her like a weight. “Was it you?” she asked, her voice laced with venom. “Was it you keeping SHIELD away from this place?”

The creature narrowed its eyes, clearly displeased that she had the gall to ask it a question. Natasha felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. She knew she was too slow to escape in her condition. Instinctually, her eyes flitted around the darkness for a weapon. The knife she lost in their struggle, a shard of glass, anything.

But the thing grinned at her efforts, its smile almost too wide, revealing rows of pointed, bloody teeth. Natasha gritted her teeth. She hated the maniacal grins the creatures gave as they tore people apart. Hated the way they seemed to revel in human suffering.

“What do you hope to do?” it taunted, rolling onto the balls of its feet. “Kill me?”

It reached out and flicked Natasha’s forehead hard enough to send her reeling back. Enraged, Natasha swatted its hand away with a cry, hastily pressing her fingers to the mark it had made. Blood trickled down the bridge of her nose and her eyes watered. The thing laughed and idly licked her blood from its finger in response. 

Its response sent a wave of anger through her. She was tired of being played with. “Why don’t you just kill me?” she demanded.

The thing raised its brows in a comical look of mock surprise. “You’re eager to die?”

Natasha smiled dryly. “I guess I was never was one for games.”

A grimacing, toothy smile spread across the thing’s face once more as it leaned in close. “I’ll kill you,” it promised, “after I’ve had my fun.” Unease curled around her to hear those words. Its smile faded a little as it watched her. “Perhaps while you are here, you can explain...” It reached out and brushed the SHIELD logo stitched to the arm of Natasha’s combat jacket. Its eyes flitted from the patch to search her face. “I want to know what this means.” 

Natasha swallowed and levelled her gaze on the creature. Now she knew for sure—her information was her only bargaining chip. “I’ll tell you what it means,” she said, willing herself to sound strong, “but I want something in exchange.”

The thing’s smile turned into a sneer. It sprang forward, catching her face in its large grip. She felt its talons skim the delicate skin at her temples and she suppressed a shiver. “You think you can bargain with me?” it asked dangerously, “You think you have any power here?”

Natasha clenched her fists and pressed her nails into her palms to keep herself from shaking. It was so close, almost nose-to-nose with her, its white eyes burning with malice.

“Listen,” she said as calmly as she could manage, “I didn’t come here to deal with your bullshit, I came here to find something.”

Its eyes flickered, not expecting her response, but it did not move. Its talons dug a little more painfully into her skin. “And what would that be?” it inquired, eyes darting to the wound on her forehead. Its tongue traced its bottom lip in anticipation.

Natasha considered her response carefully. This might be her only chance—_anyone’s_only chance of exploring this place. She licked her lips and continued in an even tone, “This facility— I live in one like it. A long time ago, someone important left a memento of sorts. I was supposed to come here to find it.”

The thing paused for a moment, searching her expression carefully. Then it laughed and released Natasha from its grip. “Whatever you are looking for won’t be in this room. I’ll take you further into this place. Maybe you can explain something else to me,” it said.

It didn’t wait to hear her response. They both knew this wasn’t really a negotiation. She either agreed to its terms, or it would kill her. The creature stood up and watched her expectantly. Natasha pursed her lips and pushed herself up to standing, wiping at the cut on her forehead. Her whole body ached, but her foot hurt the worst. She gingerly put pressure on it, testing her threshold of pain. Sharp, agonizing jolts radiated hot and pulsating up her leg. She was bleeding from the punctures it had left when it dragged her into the dark. Natasha bit back a little whimpering gasp. She could stand, but she wasn’t sure for how long.

“So, what. You’re just going to lead me further into the base?” she asked, trying to disguise how weak she truly felt. “I’m just supposed to trust you not to kill me?”

The thing laughed, a wicked smile on its lips. Taking a step closer, it licked its thumb and wiped the nick on her forehead. Natasha sneered swatted its hand away in disgust, but the trickle of blood slowed.

“I guess you’ll have to,” it replied.

This was too important to turn back now. Natasha couldn’t lose out on the opportunity to find Stark’s notes. After seventy-five years of war against the infected, SHIELD’s resources were wearing thin. No one would say it, but there wasn’t much time left. She owed it to all those they had lost. Owed it to the people still left. She had to try.

“Let’s go then, Cap,” she said.

A small frown crossed its features. “Steve,” it corrected.

The thing turned and disappeared through a door on their left. Natasha stood for a moment, her brow furrowed in confusion. She didn’t quite understand its— Steve’s curiosity. Was this typical of the Old Ones? To live with all the intelligence and sentience of their past selves, but with none of the things that made them human? 

She looked to the empty doorway briefly before she followed, limping behind. Her eyes adjusted to the dim environment. They were in a dark hallway. Natasha skimmed her hand along the wall to orient herself in the blackness.

The creature strode ahead of her, Natasha could just make out his shape in the darkness. “Hurry up, human.” He spat from over his shoulder.

Natasha huffed. “Yeah, yeah, _Steve,”_ she muttered, catching up to him.

They came to a set of double doors. Steve pushed through, revealing a large empty room. Sunbeams filtered through the crumbling walls. The room was still dark, though sunlight filtered through the cracked walls and ceiling, scattering dancing patterns across the floor. Old punching bags hung from the rafters near the corners, many of them split apart. Shredded mats and broken equipment racks were scattered around the room, littering the floor. This looked like an old training room. Steve stepped into the room, avoiding the rays of light as he walked. Natasha followed cautiously.

From the corner of the room, there was movement in the shadows. A muffled, wet grunt sounded. She froze, hand unconsciously reaching for the blade that was no longer strapped to her hip. The mass in the corner moved. Eyes shone back at her, glinting in the dim light. _The horde._

Natasha stepped back, calculating how quickly she could make it back to the safety of the sunlight in the laundry area. They were still dormant, not quite fully awake. If she ran now, she could make it. As she took another step back, the horde seemed to come alive. A chorus of hair-raising shrieks echoed through the old room. All she could see was a mass of gnashing teeth, shining eyes, and claws. She prepared to sprint when one of the horde lunged for her. She tensed, bracing for a fight.

Steve brusquely stepped in front of the creature and swiftly grabbed its face, clamping its jaw shut. The thing struggled in his grasp for a moment, clawing desperately at his wrists. Steve squeezed and with a wet crunch, crushed the thing’s jaw. Squealing, the creature floundered in his grasp, its legs flailing. Steve released it and it crumpled to the floor, crawling away from him as bloody bits of bone and teeth dribbled from the remains of its face. Its tongue lolled down its neck, no longer housed by its bottom jaw. Steve seemed to drift alongside it as it grovelled before he stomped its back. 

Natasha heard the crack of its ribs as it collapsed in a bloody heap. The rest of the horde looked up, watching Steve with blank stares. He sauntered over to the creature on the floor, reached into its gaping maw, and jerked its head back. With a snap, the creature’s neck protruded at an unnatural angle. It squirmed and made gargled screeches. Natasha wasn’t sure if the cries were of pain or terror. 

Steve then placed his foot on the thing’s shoulder and ripped the rest of its head clean off. Its body slumped to the floor, dark blood pooling under Steve’s bare feet. He looked disinterestedly at the half-face in his grip, studying the frozen, rolled back eyes of the creature, before he tossed it into the centre of the horde. They watched him like children, waiting.

“She is mine,” he said quietly.

The horde cowed, crawling away from him. Natasha stood, frozen, staring at the creature’s ruined body on the floor. Distantly, she could hear Steve speaking. She flinched when he grasped her elbow, her hands curled tightly into fists and her lips pulled into a tight snarl. She met his gaze. Flecks of the creature’s dark red blood smeared his pale skin.

“I said, let’s go,” he commanded.

Natasha swallowed thickly, her eyes burning with tears. His pale eyes searched her face and seemed to soften. His grip on her loosened and Natasha exhaled shakily. She hadn’t realized she was holding her breath.

“Come on,” he said, softer this time. He let go of her and turned to continue down the dark corridor.

Natasha steeled herself and limped behind him. The horde watched them go before turning on the decapitated body Steve had left. She made herself turn away, watching Steve’s back instead. He could have let her die right there, torn apart by the horde. But he chose to save her, and Natasha felt unease bloom deep within her. Had he retained some measure of _personality _from before? She frowned at the notion. Every story she had heard described him as an honest, loyal man. Was he still? 

The thought sent a chill through her as she followed this corrupted, twisted version of the symbol SHIELD had held so dear. She couldn’t trust him by any means, but could she at least believe he might keep his word and not kill her until she played her part? She focused on his back in the dim lighting, not knowing what to make of him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! It's time for chapter 2! My goal is to update weekly if possible, so here's hoping! Also as a note, I hate coming up with titles, so I've put in some literary Easter eggs if you're so inclined to search them. They don't have anything to do with the plot, but I like things that relate to characters, mood, or theme. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading.


	3. The Pieces of What We Remember

Steve never looked back to see if she was behind him. She knew he could see in these dark environments, but Natasha had no idea where they were going. Her heart thrummed in her throat. She didn’t want to rely on him, but she felt her chances of escape dwindle with each painful step. 

In the darkness, she stumbled over debris, sending a shock of pain through her. Natasha braced herself against the wall and swallowed a groan. Her leg screamed at her, throbbing with the beat of her heart. She glanced up and saw Steve’s retreating form. He wasn’t waiting. She sighed and stepped forward but her leg buckled under her. With a cry, she fell to the floor.

“Damn it!” she hissed, fingers blindly feeling at her aching foot, “Dammit, dammit, dammit—” Natasha beat the wall with her fist, willing herself to keep going, but she couldn’t make herself stand. Putting weight on her foot was a mistake and she paused for a beat, waiting for the pain to subside enough for her to stand. Suddenly, a hand grasped at the fabric of her jacket and yanked her upright. Natasha yelped and stumbled, grabbing on to Steve’s arm to steady herself. In the dim light she could see annoyance flicker across his face. She shoved him squarely in the chest, and he snarled.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Stupid girl,” he snapped, “if I left you, you’d die before we ever made it.”

Natasha turned away and limped forward, leaning heavily against the wall. Steve stood unmoving behind her. “Come on then, you asshole, lead the way!” she said through gritted teeth.

There was movement behind her, and she suddenly felt her feet swept out from under her as Steve scooped her up and marched onwards. Enraged, she beat at his shoulders. “Put me down! I told you not to touch me!”

He continued on, her fists glancing off him like a fly buzzing against a window. He simply tightened his grip against her squirming. Realizing the futility of her actions, Natasha flushed in humiliation and descended into stony silence. She hated to admit it, but she was relieved to be off her foot.

Pressed against him, she felt as if the heat was slowly being leeched from her body. He was icy cold. It occurred to Natasha that she had never been this close to one of the infected without it trying to actively kill her, or vice versa. Steve had no heartbeat, or at least one that was so faint it was undetectable.

She had seen Shield’s vivisections of the creatures; the theory was that they were held in a death-like stasis by the infection. Stark theorized the creatures needed living blood to sustain the infection. While they didn’t seem to age, they often didn’t live without a steady supply of human blood. Many of them went insane without it. 

Natasha wondered how long Steve had lived in this state, half alive, not remembering who he was. She would rather die than be turned.

“What?” Steve asked suddenly.

Natasha blinked, brow crinkling in confusion.

“You were looking at me like…” His eyes appraised her sharply, unsure of the word he was looking for.

“Like what?”

“That insufferable thing your kind does,” he offered.

Natasha stared blankly and he paused as if recalling something, then he suddenly looked at her, eyes pleading. His brows were knit into an expression of grief. Natasha was taken aback; she had never seen a creature look so— human. His expression returned to its typical stony indifference.

“That,” he said.

A wave of revulsion washed over Natasha. How many times had he seen that expression? She pursed her lips and focused on her grip on his shoulder, descending into silence. He stopped suddenly.

“Answer me.”

Natasha looked at him, surprised. Steve looked at her intently, a hint of agitation coloured his features. He genuinely wanted to know. She paused and looked him. He seemed uncomfortable with her gaze.

“Pity,” she said gently, “I pity you.”

Steve frowned, unsure of the meaning of her response. Natasha wasn’t entirely sure if he understood the emotion at all. 

“Why?”

Natasha paused. He didn’t remember the life he had before. He didn’t even remember his own name. She supposed that he had been like this for a long time. Living in the dark. He didn’t know what a symbol of hope he was for humanity. She grew up hearing stories of his escapades. People revered him like a saviour, people loved him…

“I don’t know if I could explain it in a way you’d understand,” she finally replied. “You don’t truly know what you’ve lost, do you?”

Steve huffed, a low growl building in his chest, it seemed to reverberate through her body. His eyes were filled with rage, though she sensed that it wasn’t entirely directed at her. He dropped her suddenly and she caught herself, making sure to avoid landing on her injured leg. 

She gripped him for balance. “People used to say you were a gentleman,” she muttered. 

Steve ignored her and continued ahead. He pushed through a set of doors to their left and Natasha followed cautiously. The room was submerged in total darkness. He disappeared into the room, swallowed by the shadows. Natasha hovered by the door, waiting. A sudden crack illuminated the room in a sickly, blue light. Steve returned with a flare lighting his pale face. His eyes shone brightly in the light and he handed Natasha the flare.

“So you stop stumbling in the dark like an idiot,” he said.

She took the flare from his grip with a frown. She held it above her head and looked around the room. Everything was torn apart. Switchboards and screens were broken, chairs were flipped, papers were strewn about the room. Natasha noticed old blood dried in smears on the floor and walls. On the floor was the Shield symbol, bold and still clearly legible after all these years. 

Natasha felt her pulse quicken. This was the control room. It was similar to the one Shield had now. Stark’s notes could be somewhere close by. She limped into the room, wishing Clint were here. He would love this. She smoothed the stray hairs from out of her face and stepped over the debris to look for a floor plan, emergency exit route, anything that might give her a better layout of the facility. 

Natasha glanced behind her and noticed Steve was gone. A prickle of fear made her stomach sour. Even though he was terrible company, she would rather have him in her sight than skulking around in the dark.

Natasha knelt gingerly by one of the control room desks. Sometimes weapons were concealed under them to make for easy access. She reached under the desktop and felt around blindly, keeping her gaze focused on the room for the horde or Steve. Her hand lighted on something strapped to the underside of the desk corner and she withdrew it quietly. It was a gun.

Natahsa handled it carefully. She hadn’t seen one of these in the field in a long time. It was a 9mm. Many hunters avoided them on missions because they drew the attention of the horde. They were used more often at the beginning of the outbreak. Now they were relegated to defence at Shield bases. But Fury had Shield hunters train to use all manner of weapons as part of their training. Natasha ejected the magazine. It was loaded. She clicked it back into place and tucked the gun into the waistband of her pants. 

“Is that what you came here for?” Steve’s voice echoed in the empty room. Natasha started and she peeked over the edge of the desk. She saw him sitting on top of the bank of screens across from her. His feet swung idly as he watched her. He reminded her of a boy she used to play with when she was young. Natasha stood slowly, Steve’s eyes flitted to her hand, still gripping the gun behind her back. She wasn’t sure when it was last fired. She was guessing not since the base fell all those years ago.

There was a beat, her eyes were locked on his face, waiting. Natasha wondered how many rounds she could put in him before he crossed the room and killed her. A slow smile spread across his face, daring her to find out. She relaxed her grip and let her hand rest by her side.

“No, I’m here for something else,” she responded coolly.

Steve cocked his head, still smiling at her. He then hopped off his perch. “I want to show you something,” he said, walking towards a door on the opposite side of the room.

Natasha paused, unsure of following him into the dark. She considered the consequences of staying and continuing her search of the control room and decided her best option was to see what Steve wanted to show her. She couldn’t deny she was curious. Taking a deep breath, she limped after him.

She passed through the doors into another hallway, similar to the one they had come down. The flare in her hand bathed the walls in light, casting long eerie shadows down the hall. It looked as though a fire had broken out here once. The walls were scorched black. Parts of the ceiling were hanging down and debris littered the floor. Steve was standing part way down the hall, silently waiting for her to catch up. He paused, when he saw that she followed, then disappeared through another door. 

Natasha sighed and limped after. As she approached the door, Natasha noticed a small, dusty plaque affixed on the wall.  _ Director Carter, _ it read. Her heart leapt. Natasha gently reached out and traced the letters of the plaque with her fingers. It was her. The woman she so admired for all these years. She was a hero; founding Shield and the hunter initiative, rallying troops, running missions against Hydra, searching for a cure. When Natasha was a girl, she had hoped to meet her one day, but she died around fifteen years ago. She had long since retired as Director, though details about her death were sparse.When she passed, the world’s best hope against this nightmare went with her.

Natasha looked up to see Steve, standing in the room, studying her expression carefully. Feeling caught in her sentiment, Natasha straightened and met his gaze.

“Is this what you wanted to show me?” she asked.

He was oddly quiet. He turned his gaze away from her and fixed it on the desk in front of him. Seeing that he was not going to explain himself, Natasha cautiously entered the room. It was a small office. Filing cabinets were tipped, and papers were flung about the room. Claw marks shredded the walls. On the desk was a journal. Natasha glanced at Steve questioningly. He gestured to the book.

“Read it,” he said, eyes fixed on the book.

Natasha took the book from its place. It was well worn, but it had no dust covering it. It seemed to be well taken care of. She perched on the desk, taking the weight off her injured foot.

She opened the journal, but nearly dropped it when a photograph fell from its place tucked between the cover and the first page. Natasha picked it up to examine it. It was of Steve. She frowned and quickly stole a look at him, standing just to her right, watching her carefully. She noted his intensity and made a note to be careful of her expressions, lest she give too much away. Her knowledge was the only thing keeping her useful, and therefore alive.

She looked briefly at the image of Steve again. He was wearing a military dress uniform. A hint of a smile graced his face, his hair was short and brushed neatly to the side. She knew that he was handsome, he was still— blonde hair, straight nose, full lips, high cheekbones, he still had all of these features, but here, in this photo, he looked… kind. Steve shifted impatiently beside her and she quickly flipped to the next page. 

Natasha’s eyes darted over the words. These pages were pasted in over top of the originals. She examined the slanted chicken scratch carefully. The notes detailed the findings of possible cures. 

She flipped through, trying to keep her expression neutral. These must be Stark’s notes. Her heart thundered in her ears as she turned the pages, searching, hoping. A note had been circled several pages in. It was of a formula.

Steve interrupted her by snatching the book from her hands. He flipped through the pages to the end of the journal. It looked as though these were the original pages. They were unlined. A sketchbook?

“This part,” he said, handing the book back to her. Natasha focused on the elegant script. A large X was made through the lines, as though the author had hastily tried to cross it out.

_ Steve _ , it began.

_ I couldn’t do what you begged me to. I didn’t have the resolve then and for that, I can never forgive myself. I should’ve killed you. I can see that now. Instead, I let my love for you and the hope for a cure win against your better judgement. Seeing what you have become sickens me, but I can only blame myself for this. I wasn’t strong enough to help you. I am sorry, Steve.  _

_ I love you. _

Natasha felt like a voyeur. This was private. She suspected the writing had belonged to a woman. Carter, perhaps? 

Beneath the note was a sketch of a woman. It was a beautiful rendition. The woman had dark hair, neatly styled in a wavy bob. Her eyes sparkled. A coy smile graced her full lips.

_ Peg _ . Was scrawled beneath it in bold, masculine writing. This was not Carter’s hand. 

Natasha had only seen rare images of Carter when she was an older woman, created for morale. She was battle-hardened, scarred, her hair cropped short. In this image she recognized the eyes and the curve of her face. This was her when she was young. She was beautiful.

“Who is that?” Steve demanded, watching her survey the image. He had spotted something in her expression that gave away that she recognized Carter. Natasha couldn’t hide her surprise. This is what he wanted her to see?

“I saw her,” he continued, “As an old crone. She said she came here to look for me. To release me after all this time.”

Natasha’s heart sank. Carter came here? When? She looked into Steve’s agitated eyes. A confused expression coloured his face. 

“What did you do?” she asked quietly.

He spoke with frustrated intensity, words tumbling out of him in rapid succession. His eyes fixed on her face with cold appraisal. “She said she was sorry she left me. She was sorry she was such a coward. She said she let me become like this. She let me kill Howard, she let me destroy this place, all those people. She had hoped I had died like the commandos. She was afraid…”

Natasha’s face burned. He didn’t seem to know the meaning of his words, relaying his account in staccato bursts. She leaned forward. “What did you do to her?” She said, her voice taught with anger. 

He paused, face grim in the blue light. The hiss of the flare was the only sound between them.

“I killed her,” he said quietly.

Natasha froze. Words stuck in her throat.

“It was the strangest thing...” he continued, a sad smile briefly crossing his face, “She came here as a useless, frail old woman. She smelled wrong. She smelled sick. I think she knew she was dying already— I ended it before illness could. I think… She wanted me to.” 

He paused as if struggling to recall something. The memory made him frown, his brow furrowed in confused irritation. “As she died, she said something, and I don’t understand it. I’ve never understood it. She reached out and touched my face. She said she needed to see me one more time. She told me she... loved me.”

Natasha swallowed. It felt like her world was falling apart. She didn’t want to know this. Not really. Carter was a strong woman. But to know about Steve all this time? To never tell a soul about him? To let Shield attempt to look for these notes, knowing that the Old One residing here was him? She didn’t know what to think. 

Steve looked at her, eyes glinting in the light of the flare. His face was tight, lips parted expectantly. This had been eating at him all this time. Carter’s last actions swirling in his thoughts for fifteen years. While feeding made him forget, made him inhuman, he remembered this. 

Natasha eyed the sketchbook; he must’ve used it to help him remember. She wondered if he knew, deep down, what he had done. He had killed the woman he loved. She collected herself and drew a shallow breath. “Why did you show me this?”

“I want to know who she was. I want to know why she did that,” he snarled. “The symbol you wear, she had it too. It’s all over this place. What does it mean?”

His words settled over Natasha and she frowned a little. Steve seemed to vibrate with intense impatience as he watched her expectantly, waiting for her to answer him. Instead Natasha steeled herself, knowing he wouldn’t like her response. “I’ll tell you what I know,” she said, “but you have to let me go.”

Steve’s face hardened. He strode toward her, catching her hands and pinning them to the desk. His mouth was inches from her throat, bared into a snarl. A small gasp escaped her and she felt the gun press against her back, wishing she could use it. Natasha tried to stay calm, but she knew he could feel her pulse pounding in her wrists. Smell the fear emanating from her.

“I’m not stupid,” she said, willing her voice not to tremble, “I have something you want, and I’m not going to just give it to you for free. If you want to know, those are my terms. If you want to kill me, then kill me. But you’ll have to live with not knowing.”

There was a pause. Steve snapped at her, and she felt the scrape of his teeth against the fragile skin of her throat. Goosebumps spread across her skin and she swallowed thickly, suppressing her fear as best she could. He moved his face to be level with hers and she focused on him, trying hard not to flinch or back down.

“Fine,” he said, an edge of anger in his voice. And he whirled away from her, stalking out of the room.

Natasha deflated. Shakily exhaling, she glanced to the doorway. He was gone. Unzipping her uniform, she scooped up the sketchbook and tucked it into the inside pocket, praying that it would be disguised in the bulk of the canvas and Kevlar. She zipped her jacket, giving it a secure pat before, tenderly, she limped from the room. The hallway was abandoned. She held the flare up and withdrew the gun from her waistband. She was tired of feeling vulnerable here.

When she entered the control room again, Steve was waiting for her there. His face was still coloured with frustration and his eyes flitted briefly to the weapon in her hand.

“I forgot how slow you were,” he said flatly.

“Yeah well, whose fault is that?” she retorted.

A faint smile pulled at his lips. Natasha was reminded of the man in the photograph, but there was no warmth to him. It was like he was the only one in on a cruel joke at her expense. She wondered what he was like before. What sort of man had earned Carter’s love? Who was the man that begged for death rather than live like this? Steve appraised her coldly, smile fading. His eyes caught the light when he moved, reflecting like a nocturnal animal, making his expression inhuman, unreadable. She guessed that she would never know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little longer this time, I think. Enjoy!


	4. Fight or Flight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An early chapter this time! Thanks for reading and leaving such kind comments and kudos!

Natasha faltered onward, slowly crossing the room. Steve crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. “Would you like me to carry you again?”

_ Yes. _Her body screamed.

“No.” She answered. She didn’t trust him not to bring her to an isolated room and torture her to get what he wanted before tearing her apart. She was a capable fighter, but no one had a chance in hand-to-hand against one of the creatures. Especially not one as calculating as Steve.

“I’ll manage on my own,” she said as she approached the door.

He smirked at her and moved out of her way. Natasha limped her way down the hall, focusing on the path in front of her. If she remembered correctly, the way back was just a straight shot to her right. She would exit through a set of doors, leading to the room the horde was in. From there, it was to her left where she fell through the skylight. Steve paced in front of her, walking backward. He was annoyingly entertained. She huffed and blew the stray hairs away from her nose.

They walked in silence down the hall at Natasha’s slow pace. Every so often, Steve would turn and walk ahead, only to pause and wait for her. Natasha did her best to ignore him. She figured they were getting close to the horde room. She paused for a moment to rest. Steve was waiting up ahead, leaning against the wall. His eyes flitted to the darkness behind her, and he smiled.

Natasha’s brows knit together questioningly. Over the thrum of her heart, she heard it. From down the hall behind her, Natasha heard a faint shuffle, then a terrible guttural shriek. She whirled and saw the glowing eyes of a creature as it sprinted for her. There must have been more of the horde further in the building. _ Stupid _! she thought. How could she have let her guard down like this?

The creature leapt at her, clawed fingers extended forward, rows of teeth glinting. She aimed and fired twice. The muzzle flashed and the thing was struck through the cheek. Natasha felt a brief wave of relief, grateful the weapon still fired. It landed on top of her, snarling. Natasha shouted, the flare rolled from her hand against the wall, throwing the room into a bizarre abstract of light and shadow. 

Face bloody and raw, the thing opened its jaws wide, preparing to tear out her throat. Natasha managed to wiggle her arm free from under its writhing body and brought the pistol up as it lunged down, forcing the muzzle into its mouth. She fired until the clip was empty, reducing the creature’s skull into a mess of bloody fragments of bone and brains. It twitched before going limp on top of her. 

With an enraged yell, Natasha shoved it off of her and wiped the gore from her face. None of it’s blood had gotten in her mouth. She could be grateful for that much, at least. Natasha weakly pushed herself toward the flare. The thing lay dead on the floor in front of her, white irises shining in the stark light. Natasha grasped the flare and panted heavily before slowly pushing herself to standing. Catching her breath, she subtly felt at her side, the sketchbook was still there and relief washed over her. The hallways fell silent once more, save for the sound of her breathing and the flare hissing in her hand.

Steve watched her as she turned to face him. “Was that you managing?” he asked with a cold smile.

_ Fuck you, _Natasha thought. Her face must’ve conveyed this sentiment, because Steve smiled wider.

She tossed the empty weapon to the floor, missing the modicum of security it gave her. Was this what Steve wanted? To weaken her further and disarm her? Is that why he didn’t help her?

Natasha huffed and limped away. She was exhausted and covered in the creature’s blood. She focused on her feet, trying to control her breathing. She shouldn’t expect his help. She shouldn’t expect him to do anything for her. He was one of them, and an Old One to boot. He’d been around longer, seen more things than she ever had. He wasn’t human. Not anymore.

Natasha’s legs shook and stepped to brace herself. She stumbled and a deep, throbbing pain shot through her foot. With a cry she fell to the floor. The pain in her ankle was nearly overwhelming and she breathed deeply, eyes brimming with tears. Her breaking point was fast approaching. Natasha inhaled shakily, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

When Steve grabbed her arm to pull her up, she was too exhausted to resist. He silently pulled her arm over his shoulder and slipped his arm around her back to grip her waist. His hand brushed just shy of the concealed sketchbook and Natasha’s heart leapt. She felt Steve glance at her with curious interest at the racing of her heart, but she hoped he would chalk it up to her being surprised by his touch. Natasha leaned into him, turning her side away from his fingers a little. She was able to keep her weight off her injured foot with his support. They moved in silence, Steve bearing the brunt of the work to keep her moving. She felt numb against him as she soldiered forward, cold and jittery as she came down from the adrenaline of fighting for her life. She was grateful she didn’t have to look at him. 

After moving in agonizingly slow silence from one room to the next, she couldn’t bear it anymore. “Why are you doing this?” she asked.

There was silence. Her breaths echoed in the empty hallway. She was sure he wouldn’t respond. “You told me not to carry you,” came his reply.

Natasha rolled her eyes. “I mean, why are you helping me?”

Steve paused again. “Pity,” he said, throwing her words back at her. “I pity you.”

His non-answer was incredibly frustrating. Natasha grew quiet, wishing she didn’t need him to move. They reached the room the horde was in. The flare illuminated them more clearly now. They lay in a group, apparently sleeping in the corner. Their victim from earlier was left in a heap on the floor, torn into bloody pieces. It was impossible to see the age or sex of the person. Natasha focused on the floor, flushed with anger.

Steve noticed the shift in her demeanour. They continued, passing the horde. The creatures squirmed. Some opened their eyes to blankly look at them. When they saw Steve with her still, they turned away.

“What is that?” he asked, “that shift, that flush of heat?”

She could feel him looking down at her, but she was tired of looking at him. She kept her focus ahead of her. She remembered her mother looking the same way, a bloody unrecognizable heap. Her village in flames, screams echoing in the distance. She remembered her father, joining in the chaos, tearing into people, friends, neighbours, like they were nothing.

“Hatred,” she spat.

He hummed in reply. That one he did understand.

They approached the med bay laundry. The hole in the ceiling allowed in the pale glow of the evening light. The sun was setting, and the light was fading fast. It seemed almost… peaceful. The air here was fresh, a welcome relief from the musty staleness of the facility. 

She had spent a whole day in this place. The creatures would be active again soon. Clint surely thought she was dead. She knew Shield wouldn’t come back for her. She wasn’t the first hunter to go missing in this place, but she was so close. So close to escaping.

Steve released his grasp on her waist and Natasha took a few limping steps to the light. The sky was a dusky purple. Distantly, she could see stars twinkling, like tiny pinpricks in the curtain of the fast approaching night. Natasha sighed. This could be the last time she saw such a sight. She turned to Steve and he looked at her expectantly. She supposed that he wanted his answers now.

“This symbol,” she began, pointing to the patch on her arm, “It’s one that hunters use. It’s for Shield. We fight against the infected, creatures like you and… the horde, we call them. Shield exists to stop this. To destroy Hydra, the organization that made you all. We are a protection against the darkness. This symbol means hope.”

She wanted to say it, to accuse him, _ you used to be one of us _, but she didn’t. She didn’t want to provoke him. How had this happened? How was he turned? Steve ruminated on her response, clearly trying to puzzle out what this meant to him.

“And the woman?”

Natasha looked to the ceiling. If there was no other way out, she would have to climb. It would take her a while in her condition, and she wasn’t sure Steve would keep her around after nightfall. Steve’s eyes flicked to what she was looking at and he strode forward into the dim light. The sun had set, and while the light still shone, it was dark enough for him not to be burned. 

He silently grabbed Natasha by the waist and jumped up the wall, feet and empty hand digging into the surface. Caught off guard, Natasha yelped and clung to him, trying not to fall. He grabbed the edge of the hole, his fingers digging into the cement surface. He hauled them both up through it. Natasha rolled from his grip, eyes darting around the roof, looking for a way down.

But Steve grabbed her again and dragged her to the ledge. She twisted in his grasp, but he was too strong. “I’m tired of waiting,” he said, setting her down on her back. Her shoulders and head were over the edge of the roof. She could feel the cool breeze of the evening on her neck, blowing the stray red hairs around her lips and eyes.

“Tell me what I want to know.”

Natasha scrabbled against his grip. She looked down. The fall likely wouldn’t be enough to kill her, but she would be nearly incapacitated when the hordes became active. She met his eyes wildly. He was impassive, done toying with her.

“Her name was Peggy Carter,” she said quietly, trying to contain the panic in her voice. “She was a hunter. She founded Shield years ago to stop these creatures.”

He moved closer to her, inching her further off the roof.

“Who was she, to me?” he said, voice low and dangerous. 

Natasha really didn’t know. The letter seemed to imply they were lovers. His story told her that she loved him still, after all these years.

“She loved you,” Natasha said. Steve only narrowed his eyes at her response, enraged.

“That’s not good enough,” he growled lowly. Steve didn’t understand what that meant. He was _ incapable _of understanding. In his existence as he knew it, he never felt love, kindness, friendship, anything that made someone human. That had been torn from him long ago and this creature, totally lacking empathy, steeped in violence, hatred, rage, was all that remained.

“Maybe you don’t understand it,” Natasha said quickly, “but she did what she could for you. She held out hope all this time thinking she could save you.” 

Steve glowered, still not understanding. Natasha could see the questions forming, multiplying as he considered her response. “_ Save _me?” he accused, gripping Natasha tightly. “I am saved.”

He really understood nothing of his life before. Seventy-five years was a lifetime, longer than most people lived in this hell of a world. He had lived a lifetime like this. Nameless, violent, alone. To him, there was nothing else but this. Fear gripped Natasha, making her cold. She knew she didn’t have any answers that would make sense to him, but this was all she had. It would be a mercy if he killed her himself, rather than leaving her to the hordes. 

She knew he could feel the hope drain from her and, sensing that she had no more answers for him, he smiled. Pinning her tightly, he swept the hair from her face with his free hand. “Thanks for the bit of fun, hunter,” he said. Natasha steeled herself, hoping for a swift death.

There was a sudden spray of blood and Steve released his grip. Feeling herself falling, Natasha grabbed his leg and squirmed to a more secure position on the roof. An arrow pierced through Steve’s arm. Dark blood streamed down his fingers. Distracted, he searched the horizon for the archer. 

Two more arrows stabbed into him, narrowly missing his heart. Steve let out a frenzied howl as he staggered back. Blood dripped from his mouth; one of the arrows had got him in the lung. Natasha took the opportunity to kick him square in the chest with her good leg and Steve stumbled.

“Tasha!” A voice cried out from the fading light.

It was Clint.

Natasha nearly cried she was so happy to hear his voice. She rolled onto her side, scanning for him. He appeared from behind the ruins of a bombed-out building to her right. She could make out his worried expression in the dimming light. Another hunter appeared behind him, pulling up in an old pickup. 

Clint must’ve made the trek back to Shield after she had left him and returned to search for her with a vehicle. It was a stupid plan, definitely not sanctioned by Fury, but she was so grateful she couldn’t help the bubble of nervous laughter that escaped her. Clint withdrew a trick arrow from his quiver and fired it. The arrow planted firmly into the side of the building. Clint hooked the other end to the roof rack of the truck, forming a zip-line. 

Natasha glanced behind her. Steve staggered, pulling the arrows from his chest. He locked eyes with her and snapped the arrow in his arm at the shaft. Fear spiked adrenaline through her and Natasha scrambled. Unbuckling her belt, she whipped it from her waist. The sketchbook tumbled from her jacket. 

Steve saw it, recognizing it as his. His face darkened. He didn’t know she had taken it. Natasha snatched it back, shoving it her waistband by her stomach. Steve’s face contorted in rage and he gave a guttural cry before running at her. Natasha looped her belt over the cable and pushed herself off the ledge, struggling to keep her grip. She felt Steve’s clawed fingers brush through her hair before he pulled away with a strangled cry. 

She glanced over her shoulder as she descended. Clint had shot him through the throat. Steve burned with fury and ripped the cable from the wall. Natasha tumbled, hitting the ground and with a pained cry. She was close enough to the ground that she was mostly unharmed, though as she scrambled to stand, found she could no longer put weight on her injured foot. Clint rushed to her and dragged her to standing.

“We gotta go, Nat. We gotta go!” he muttered, panicked.

Behind them, Steve pulled the arrow through his neck and out the other side. He jumped down from the ledge in pursuit. Clint loaded Natasha into the back of the pickup. From the front seat, the other hunter turned around. Natasha recognized him. It was Sam. He gave her the tiniest of smiles before glancing behind her.

“Get in!” he shouted, seeing Steve gaining on them.

She scrambled into the bed of the truck and Clint jumped in after her. Sam floored the gas, spitting gravel out behind them. Steve grabbed at the tailgate, claws sinking into the metal. He began to climb on to the truck, staring furiously at Natasha. Clint loosed another arrow and Steve snatched it out of the air, turning his attention to Clint as he snapped it in two.

“Natasha, what the fuck is this thing!” Clint shouted beside her as he nocked another arrow. Natasha didn’t have time to answer. Spying a knife strapped to her partner’s leg, she grabbed it from his holster and lunged for Steve. Their eyes locked as she brought the knife down, aiming for his neck. He raised his hand and the knife went through it instead.

“Natasha,” he sneered, repeating her name. His eyes glinted hatefully and a chill went through her. His fingers closed around her hand, knife still through his palm, and pierced her skin. Blood welled from the wounds and Natasha froze in fear.

“Remember what I promised, _ Natasha _?”

Clint shot an arrow and it struck him through his other arm. Steve roared and let go, tumbling to the ground behind them. As the truck sped away, she saw him stand. Still looking at her, he licked her blood from his fingers.

_ I’ll kill you_, his words echoed.

She slumped against the truck, watching him grow smaller in the fading twilight as they headed back to safety.


	5. The Trail of Ruin You Leave

They returned to the base just after nightfall. The spotlights were on, bathing the clear-cut field in stark, white lighting. Natasha sagged in relief at the familiar sight of the perimeter fences and tangles of barbed wire that made up the outer defences. The truck lurched to a halt as Sam and Clint awaited clearance from patrol on the inside. The base was equipped with electrified fences, anti-personnel mines, and old anti-tank barricades. Word was only Fury knew what the full defensive capabilities of the base were. This was one of the last true strongholds Shield held in Europe and after Stark was killed and their first stronghold was destroyed, they could never be too careful. Everyone had always suspected it was a Hydra mole that had done it, tearing the base apart from the inside out. In a sense they were right. An involuntary shiver sent goosebumps racing across Natasha’s arms. She supposed she was the only one who knew what really happened there. The guard tower flashed the all clear and the perimeter fence shuddered to life, opening wide enough for the truck to pass through. As they approached the wedge of concrete jutting from the ground in a sprawling mass, Clint gave Natasha a reassuring pat on the arm and she smiled wanly at him. They were home.

Once inside, Natasha,Clint and Sam were immediately whisked into quarantine and checked for signs of infection— standard procedure for any returning hunters. Natasha had endured this countless times before, and submitted herself readily as the medical team shone a light in her eyes, took samples of her blood where she had been cut, and checked her temperature. She was quickly cleared and taken to the medical ward for further treatment while Sam and Clint were whisked away for a thorough reprimand from Directory Fury himself for stealing the truck to look for her. They got off easy with guard duty. Fury always had a soft spot for Natasha. Though he would never admit it, he was glad to see her alive. She sat in the stark, sterile environment of the treatment room, her injured leg propped up and bandaged while two other Shield doctors checked the rest of her for any other hidden injuries. Natasha had turned the sketchbook over to the lab immediately, sparking a flurry of activity around the base as teams were assembled and scrambled to unpack Stark’s work. 

It was a while before Fury himself strode in, dressed in his usual black on black ensemble, mouth set in a hard line. He was clearly pleased with Natasha’s findings. Natasha sat up a little straighter when he entered, causing one of the Shield doctors to bump her a little as he stitched her up. Natasha winced and relaxed back onto the examination table. 

“At ease, Romanoff,” Fury said. 

She smiled a little at that, grateful that she was still here. Natasha made her report to Fury personally, relaying her and Clint’s mission, the moment she fell through the roof, meeting Steve, finding the sketchbook— everything. 

By the time she had finished, the medical team had long finished patching her up and had moved on to attending to other matters. Fury listened intently, nodding thoughtfully every now and then as she recounted her story. He didn’t seem overly surprised at the news of Steve Rogers being the Old One who destroyed the Shield facility. His eyebrow shot up briefly in an unamused quirk, forming stacks of wrinkles on his brow before he gave a humourless chuckle. 

“You don’t get to be my age without seeing some disappointing bullshit, Romanoff,” he said, noticing her puzzlement at his reaction, “Nothing surprises me anymore.”

Natasha nodded silently. Peggy had appointed Fury as director herself. He was a humourless, shrewd man. His exploits were the stuff of legends, he had been a hunter when Shield still fought to keep Hydra expansion out of Russia and the Balkans. They had succeeded for many years, before Hydra sabotage and new weapons crushed Shield resistance. It had been quiet ever since. Hydra couldn’t destroy everyone, afterall. Not when humanity provided their food source. 

“Let’s keep that tidbit about Rogers quiet,” he said flatly, “Survivors don’t need to know one of our posterboys is infected. They need some kind of hope.” 

Natasha pursed her lips and said nothing. It was true, Steve Rogers was a symbol of hope, a martyr for their cause. They didn’t need this getting out. With that, Fury gave her a terse pat on the arm, shaking her from her thoughts. 

“Glad to have you back, Romanoff,” he said with a dry smile. 

“Thank you, sir,” Natasha answered softly as she relaxed back onto the table. He gave her a curt nod and left the room and Natasha smiled. 

* * *

It had been nearly three weeks since the incident and life returned to a routine. Natasha’s injury was diagnosed as a grade two ankle sprain. The ligaments had been partially torn and she was ordered to keep off it. Frustrated, Natasha hobbled around on crutches, still determined to keep up her training as best she could. It was important to her to keep up her strength and conditioning. She remembered being at Steve’s mercy on the roof and pushed herself. The Shield doctors made her stop and Clint was sure to give her jobs to keep her occupied while she recovered. 

Having confirmed the suspicions about the presence of an Old One in the area, Shield hunters and scouts kept a careful eye on the fallen facility after Natasha’s escape. But it was strangely quiet in the area. Steve never resurfaced, but Natasha was uneasy about that, rather than relieved. He was an honest man, and he hadn’t lied to her yet. He had made her a promise and she shuddered to think when he would deliver on that promise. 

While Natasha limped around the base, doing odd jobs she was privy to the chatter among the non-hunter personnel. She was usually away on missions and didn’t often hear the talk around the base, but everyone who was there knew it by now. The Shield lab was confident Stark was on to something. The relevant pages from the sketchbook were removed and the rest was kept in storage. There was a renewed sense of hope in the base. The lab team was already in the stages of developing an experimental cure. While it was promising, they weren’t confident that it was perfected yet. They were ready to proceed with trials but needed an infected to test it on. Fury was already lining up a mission for tonight to acquire one. Natasha couldn’t ever recall feeling such a genuine collective optimism. She liked it.

Evening fell around the base that night. Natasha had spent the day feeling useless, flitting from place to place, looking for something to do. Her injury had healed enough that she could walk, jog a little even— as long as the doctors didn’t see her do it. Everyone assured her she had done enough. But she couldn’t shake the feeling that she could do more. When she rested for too long, Steve’s last words to her raced through her mind. Her skin crawled when she envisioned his blank eyes watching her retreat. While the sketchbook felt like a victory in a lot of ways, Natasha couldn’t help but feel like it came with a price. She did her best not to be alone. It only made her feel anxious. Tonight, she settled for sitting in the lab, watching the team work. She kept out of the way, seated in a corner, happy to watch the buzz of the lab. 

In the bright lighting of the lab, one of the lab techs drew a sample of the test cure into a long, metal syringe. They were anticipating receiving their subject tonight and everyone was excited to begin trials. The lab tech then capped and stored the syringe in a tray and placed it in a small refrigeration unit on the counter.

“You think it’ll work?” Natasha asked.

The woman smiled back at her. “We’ll see, but we’re really hopeful about this one,” she said.

Natasha smiled and rubbed her neck, glad to be a part of this. The woman, Sarah, smiled back at her before resuming her work. The team was in overdrive, working tirelessly and around the clock to try and push this cure out to its testing phase. She could see the tiredness weigh on her, the dark circles under her eyes. Natasha had spent most of the day making sure they were hydrated and eating enough. It was the least she could do. 

As Natasha watched the flurry of activity, she rested her head against the wall behind her. Her eyes glazed over and she scanned the black countertops lined with instruments, papers and other clutter for what must’ve been the hundredth time. There were four other lab techs starting prep work, and getting notebooks and other instruments ready for testing and observation. 

She was about to ask if there was anything else she could do to help, when there was suddenly a distant rumble from outside. The ceiling shook, raining down dust and making the lights flicker. There was a beat, a moment of terrible silence where everyone stood frozen. Natasha sprang to her feet, unease settling deep within her. She locked eyes with Sarah, who looked at her questioningly. Another rumble shook the base, vibrating the glasses lining the cabinets, threatening to spill them onto the tiled floor below. Sarah looked scared now, face draining of colour. The rest of the lab team watched the flickering lights anxiously. The perimeter alarm sounded, wailing loudly in the distance. There was a rush, the scramble of hunters within the base. Natasha bolted for the door, doing her best to move without putting pressure on her tender ankle. 

“Stay here,” she said to the anxious crew of lab techs looking back at her, and she slipped into the hallway. 

As she made her way to command, trying not to get in the way of other hunters who rushed past her, another explosion erupted from the minefield surrounding the base. It was much closer this time. Natasha pursed her lips as fear blanketed her insides. Something was very wrong. In the confusion, Clint found her, geared up and ready to fight. He looked grim, stopping Natasha and pulling her out of the way. 

“What’s going on?” She asked as Clint handed her a gun and holster. His eyes darted to the sounds of gunfire, as another slew of detonations shook the base. 

“We’re under attack,” he said, readjusting his bow and checking the blast arrows in his quiver. “It’s the horde. They cut through our perimeter fences, Natasha it’s like they  _ knew _ how to get past them.” Dread twisted Natasha’s insides as Clint spoke. “This is the first I’ve seen this many this far out. Some tripped the mines and were blasted to pieces, but more kept coming. I’ve… never seen so many of them in such a coordinated effort. They’ve reached the guard compounds. It’s systematic, what they’re doing.” 

Clint was clearly shaken, and so was she. This was far too calculated for just the horde to pull off. He was here.  _ Steve _ . They both knew what this meant. Clint squeezed Natasha’s arm as she steadied herself, ready to fight. “Natasha, protect the lab. You’re no good to us out there.” 

She exhaled sharply through her nose and swallowed her frustration. He was right, but it still stung. She could only nod quietly in response. Clint turned to join the chaos outside, nocking an arrow with determined focus. 

“Be careful, Clint. I think he’s back, the Old One,” Natasha said. He nodded and then left to join them at the breach. Natasha returned to the labs, pushing past hunters who ran to their positions and other personnel who ran to shelter. She was determined to at least be some kind of use protecting the lab techs. Just as she entered through the doorway, another explosion tore through the building. It was from inside this time. The tremors were enough to throw her off balance and elicit a few panicked screams from the lab techs as they were plunged into darkness. The power had been knocked out. The base alarm sounded, indicating a breach in the defences and the emergency lighting kicked in, bathing the room in a red glow. Immediately, the blast shutters came down over the windows. A metal gate reinforced the doors.

Natasha tenderly walked to blast doors, fingering her weapon in anticipation. She turned to the Shield scientists behind her. “Stay behind me, okay?” She leveled her weapon at the door. It was eerily quiet. Every breath she took sounded too loud in the small room. She could hear shouts distantly, gunfire and explosions rang out. From behind the doors she could hear the running steps of the infected as they tore through, looking for victims. Natasha tightened her grip on the gun, never tearing her gaze away from the door. The creatures shrieked and gunfire rang out, causing them to chase whoever had shot at them. It seemed to settle for a while, returning to the thunderous silence as they all waited for something, anything to happen. 

It had been at least ten minutes of this, by Natasha’s count. Every now and then the building rumbled, ratcheting the tension in the room. The lab techs hid in the room behind her, staying low and quiet. Natasha looked over her shoulder, trying to reassure them in some way. They smiled back at her, some speaking to each other in soft voices. Over the hushed whispers, Natasha heard one lab tech tell the story of Captain America and Carter’s takedown of a Hydra lab in France. It was a particular favourite around the base, but now it only soured Natasha’s stomach. She returned her focus to the door and did her best to ignore the story. 

Eventually silence returned to the room when the sounds of a few more infected pacing the halls came from outside the doors. Natasha could hear her heart pounding in her ears, anticipating, waiting for the worst. The awful silence was cut by the screech of clawed fingers tracing their way along the blast shutters. In horror, Natasha snapped her attention back to the door, readjusting her grip as something tapped softly on the blast shutters. It went quiet again, Natasha calculating how strong the doors were when suddenly they were torn open like a tin can and Steve stepped into the room, covered in blood. He had a predatory smile on his face.

“Hello, Natasha.”

She fired off three shots, hitting him in the chest and shoulder as he lunged forward. He grunted at the impact, but shook off the damage and grabbed her before she get another shot off. He caught her wrist in his hand, dwarfing her small frame as he squeezed her painfully. Snarling, he brought his face close to hers.

“You took something of mine,” he growled. She could feel his breath on her skin and the colour drained from her face.

Steve threw her to the floor. Natasha gasped at the impact, feeling her breath rush from her lungs. She wheezed, trying to focus on him, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. The gun had flown from her hand, clattering to the floor somewhere in the room. Before she could even get her bearings, Steve was on her, trapping her to the floor. She knew he must be smiling, he must be enjoying this. Steve gripped her face painfully. Visions of him crushing her skull, breaking her jaw apart flashed through her mind. Panicked, Natasha struggled, but he pinned her her face to the tile instead. She grunted and struggled against him, but he wouldn’t budge. She felt him bend down, face hovering by her exposed neck.

There was a sudden shout. One of the scientists rushed forward and tackled Steve off her. The rest of them fled the room, scattering like mice. They were willing to take their chances elsewhere. Natasha rolled, scrambling to stand. There was a struggle behind her before she heard a sickening snap. Steve threw Sarah’s lifeless body at her. It landed on the countertop, sending glass and papers flying. Her head was rotated nearly all the way around, her severed throat strained against the skin of her neck. She had been internally decapitated. Natasha didn't have time to react. 

Spotting the gun on the floor, she charged for it but Steve grabbed her hair from behind and jerked her backwards. She could feel her scalp strain, hair tearing from her as he pulled her toward him. Natasha cried out as he spun her around to face him, hand still twined in her thick, red ponytail. His eyes burned with hatred as he flicked her up and down. Steve slammed her back against the counter, pressing her with his body and drawing a pained gasp from her. He would make good on his promise.

Natasha fumbled blindly, hands searching the counter around her, looking for anything she could use as a weapon. Steve pulled her hair, and she grunted, one hand flying to hold his fingers as he tugged her, exposing her windpipe. She swallowed and Steve’s eyes traced the bob of her throat. She could feel his lips on her skin as he leaned forward and Natasha imagined the way he would tear into her, drowning her in her own blood. Steve smiled against her throat and chuckled. He was taunting her. Natasha’s fingers brushed something sharp. She grabbed it and without hesitation, plunged it deep into his heart.

Steve staggered back. They both looked down at the object Natasha had stabbed into him. It was the syringe filled with the test cure.

With a desperate cry, Natasha depressed the plunger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some updates for everyone!  
1\. I am going to try and post regularly on Friday, Saturday, or Sunday.   
2\. This weekend I will be posting 2 chapters, this one and then the next one likely on Sunday.   
Enjoy!


	6. Hope is the Thing with Feathers that Perches in the Soul

The air seemed to be sucked from the room. All at once, time seemed to slow to an agonizing grind. Releasing Natasha from his grip, Steve staggered back and slowly reached up and pulled the syringe from his heart. His eyes narrowed, his gaze seemed to go out of focus as he inspected the object in his hand. Natasha was barely keeping herself upright. She couldn’t make herself move or do anything other than watch him numbly. “What did you do?” he said quietly.

Natasha couldn’t answer. Wide-eyed she studied him, heart thundering in her ears. She didn’t know.

Steve crushed the syringe and threw it to the floor. There didn’t seem to be any obvious effect. He made to step toward her, eyeing her hatefully, murderously. Natasha gripped the countertop, every muscle in her body rigid and tensed, waiting. He would kill her, tear her apart. But Steve faltered, a pained expression coloured his features. He seemed to try and figure out what this was, what made him stop. His fingers shook as he brought his hand up to grasp the place she had injected him. Natasha had never seen such a genuine look of anxiety on any infected, but there it was, painted on Steve’s face in the red emergency lighting. They both paused, unsure of what was happening. When Steve looked at her for a beat, Natasha couldn’t tell what his intention was anymore, his face became contorted with conflicting expressions. Finally he backed out of the room and retreated down the hall.

Natasha hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until Steve left. Shakily, she exhaled and sagged to the floor in a daze. What had she done? Natasha looked over to where Sarah lay. She had saved her life. Tears stung Natasha’s eyes. She suddenly felt hyper aware, overstimulated, the world was too sharp and blurry all at once. It could’ve been minutes, seconds, hours, that she sat in this state. Natasha really had no idea. From down the hall, she could hear shouts, sounds of struggle, but she couldn’t make herself move. When Clint stepped into the room, searching, she was relieved. He spotted her, sitting on the floor wide-eyed and battered.

“Tasha!” He rushed over, an edge of worry in his voice. He was bloody, sweat lined his brow. His chest was slashed and glistening. A tight expression coloured his features and his eyes were hard as he searched her face.

“Are you okay?” he asked gently.

Natasha nodded. She tried to push herself up to standing, but faltered. Clint grasped her elbow and helped her up.

“What happened?” He said as Natasha braced against him. 

Natasha eyed the doorway behind them. “He came back for me,” she said, “The Old One.”

Clint’s face darkened. He tightened his grip on his bow. “Where is he now, Tasha?”

“I—” Her eyes flitted to the syringe on the floor. “I got him, he had me, he was going to kill me. I reached out and I stabbed him with that,” she said, nodding to the syringe.

Clint looked down to the object and then back at her. “Oh shit,” he whispered.

“Yeah.”

Natasha’s dull reply fell flatly in the room. She looked at the syringe with a strange sense of detachment as her brain struggled to make sense of what had just happened. She injected Steve with the cure. The thought made her heart pound. 

“Listen, the place is still crawling with the horde,” Clint’s urgent voice snapped her back to reality, “We need to move and we’ll address that later.”

Withdrawing a knife from his leg holster, Clint handed it to her. It felt strange in her grip, but her body didn’t need her brain to know what to do with it. Natasha flipped it in her grasp, nodded and fell in step behind Clint as he took point. They left the lab and stepped into the hall. The red lights flickered along the ground where they illuminated the path to the emergency bunker, sending the corridor into a disorienting strobe. As they turned the corner, Natasha could see infected corpses strewn in bloody heaps, bullet holes and slashes marked the walls. From deep in the facility shots still rang out. Natasha tried to control her breathing, nerves still frayed from her encounter with Steve. She stayed close behind Clint, searching for danger. Clint steered them further in, toward the bunker. It was for non-hunter personnel and Natasha guessed he planned on leaving her there until the base had been secured. He poked his head around the corner and stopped suddenly. Natasha nearly ran into him, peeking over his shoulder to see what he looked at. 

From around the corner, Natasha saw a man, bowed and leaning heavily against the wall. He looked hurt, struggling to move as he stood there. Natasha’s mind focused in on a strange detail— his feet were bare. The man turned and looked at the pair of them hatefully, eyes reflecting in the strobe of the light.  _ Steve _ . 

Clint rushed out, aiming his arrow at him, but Steve didn’t move. He only bared his teeth like a cornered animal. The veins in his face and neck were visible from their position, it looked painful. Everyone was still, waiting for the other to make a move when suddenly Steve convulsed, his body contorting and stiffening in strange ways. He slid to the floor with a strangled cry, writhing. Clint glanced back at Natasha, unsure of what to do. Reality suddenly crashed into her, cutting through her strange, shocked hyperawareness to focus in on a singular thought. A singular hope. The cure was working. 

She looked at Clint, wide eyed, then back at Steve. They couldn’t just let him leave. Clearly the cure was doing something. Maybe he was dying, maybe he was changing. Whatever happened, they needed to keep him here to observe the effects of the cure. But neither of them had time to react. From down the hall the horde burst into the room, there were at least six of them. The infected turned its hungry gaze on them, eyes shining predatorily. It screeched, drawing the attention of the rest of the horde. Clint exhaled sharply, turning to face the infected bathed in the red of the emergency lighting. 

“Tasha get out of here!” he cried, shooting an arrow into the eye socket of an infected. It tumbled, tripping the others that ran behind it. Clint sounded distant, echoey over the sound of Natasha’s heart in her ears. She felt magnetized, fixing her attention back on Steve. He had recovered from his fit, dazed.  _ Frightened _ , Natasha ascertained. She moved toward him, blade tight in her grasp. Steve locked eyes with her, his lips twisting into a sneer before he hastily pushed himself to his feet and took off. Natasha pursued, running after him with single-minded determination. 

Steve made it to the breach in the walls of the base, escaping through the smoke and rubble of the hole torn there. Natasha was slow, but so was he— weakened by what she had done to him. This could be it. This could be the end of all of this. The horde, the infected, everything. With a desperate cry, Natasha threw herself forward, tackling Steve to the ground just outside of the base. He went down easier than she anticipated. Before Steve could even begin to struggle, Natasha straddled him, bringing the blade up to his throat. He swallowed and her blade cut into him when he moved. It was the first time she had been so close to him that she felt in control. She held his life in her hands now. The thought should give her satisfaction, should make her feel powerful. She had him. But she could only watch him grimly in the flickering light of the burning structures around her. 

Steve’s expression was unreadable as he studied her, but he didn’t resist, didn’t move from under her. Natasha gritted her teeth; she should kill him. It was what he deserved. She could feel the heat of the burning base around her, the smell of blood and charred flesh sharp in the air. Natasha pressed the blade further into him, drawing a steady stream of blood and forcing his head back. It might be a mercy if she killed him. He had even begged for it, once. No one should live as he did. No one should be condemned to that. She could slit his throat, watch him struggle and choke before she would end it by sinking her blade into his heart. 

Oher hunters rushed out to her aid, Clint among them. When they spotted her, poised to kill him they called for her to do it, to stop him. He deserved nothing less. He deserved to die choking on his own blood. Steve watched her with disdain, resignation. He waited for her to kill him. He knew what he deserved. But Natasha hesitated. She wanted to know— she  _ had _ to know if it worked. If she cured him. 

Everyone there saw her hesitation, the way she searched Steve for a glimmer of humanity. Natasha's hatred dissolved, giving way to a deep, desperate hope she thought she had buried long ago. Her eyes welled with tears as he watched him, bitter anger consumed her and she turned his face toward her, willing him to turn back, to give her a sign that this nightmare was over, that all of these years of suffering and loss weren’t for nothing. Steve blanched under her touch, expecting death, violence— anything but Natasha’s insistent grip on his face, her desperate, anguished expression as she leaned over him. She tensed, nearly humming with anticipation, as she waited, but he was unchanged. 

“Please,” she begged quietly, “please tell me this isn’t all for nothing…” 

Steve searched her in confusion. He blinked in surprise when a tear landed on his cheek. His lips parted, brow furrowing as he struggled to understand what was happening. Natasha knew she should finish it, she should do something,  _ anything _ . But she could only slide her fingers to clutch his shirt, her grip on the knife against his throat slackened as she watched him, devastated. She closed her eyes briefly, unable to hide the quiet sob that escaped her. Steve swallowed as another tear tracked down his cheek. There was a quiet tension from the crowd of hunters gathering to watch as they realized she had frozen, she wouldn’t do it. 

Clint charged forward, tearing Steve’s perplexed gaze from Natasha. Before she could regain her composure, Steve grabbed her, fingers coiling around her as he forced the knife from her. He rolled Natasha from him, pulling her close to shield himself from the hunters who threatened to kill him. Clint drew his bow, enraged, trying to get a clear shot on Steve, but he only held Natasha closer, one arm wrapping around her waist and the other around her chest. She could feel his breath against her ear, ragged and panting as he squeezed her tightly. She struggled, trying to free herself from his iron grasp, but it was fruitless. She would pay for her lapse of will, her childish hope. Steve would kill her in front of her friends. When Steve retreated a few steps, he dragged Natasha along with him. Clint and two other hunters advanced, searching for a clear shot and Steve curled his hand up to grip her neck. 

“That’s far enough,” he threatened, fingers tightening around her windpipe. 

There was a standoff, Clint, furious, watched helplessly as Steve staggered back a few more steps. 

“Tasha…” he said, lowering his bow a little. The look on his face was grim. She didn’t have to guess what he was thinking, it was written on him, clear as day.  _ Why didn’t you kill him?  _ She swallowed hard and felt Steve’s fingers move with the bob of her throat. He didn’t grip her as hard as he appeared to, holding her tightly enough to keep her still, but not hard enough to hurt her. She didn’t move, knowing at any second that could change. He could crush her throat in an instant. Steve retreated, taking Natasha with him. As the light of the compound faded, Natasha knew she was finished. Her ankle still throbbed, her body aching from their fight earlier. When Steve set her down, she expected to die. She met his gaze defiantly in the darkness, his eyes glinted in the light of the moon. Steve’s face hardened and faster than she could react, he brought both hands up to her throat and he leaned in menacingly. His large hands encircled her neck, making her feel fragile, small. He only had to squeeze and her life would end, snuffed out like a candle. Instinctively her hands flew to his wrists, gripping him uselessly, anticipating, waiting for him to do it. 

They both seemed surprised when he didn’t. Instead he traced the skin of her neck, thumbs dipping gently into the hollow of her throat. Natasha shivered at the gentleness of his touch. She was certain he would lunge at her, that he would tear into her with his teeth. But he didn’t. Steve seemed just as mystified as she when he slowly let go. He breathed hard, expression tight with anger and confusion as he watched her for a beat. Hesitantly, he retreated, backing away to the darkness of the looming trees around them. Natasha could see the glint of his eyes, two shining orbs watching from the gloom. The hairs on her neck stood on end, consumed by the overwhelming feeling that she should be dead. Steve turned and left as suddenly as he had arrived, disappearing into the shadows and Natasha was left alone to puzzle out why she was spared. 

In her condition, Natasha was relegated to small tasks like checking the state of the perimeter fences while people regrouped. It was day two of the base recovery process and Natasha didn’t mind being alone. Everyone else preferred it that way as well. It was hard to explain what she was thinking when she didn’t kill Steve, and she landed herself in hot water with everyone on the base. At best, she froze, at worst— rumours flew in hushed whispers. Natasha knew what they must think. She didn’t need to know the particulars. Fury was incredulous when she made her report. Everyone thought they had trained sentiment, foolish hopefulness out of her— including herself. 

It was harder still to explain how she was still here. She couldn’t account for it, recalling Steve’s confused expression as he held her, hands gently circling her throat. The thought chilled her and she paused. The sun warmed her freckled skin and she breathed deeply, smelling the sweet spring air. She imagined her mother’s garden, full of flowers. It had been a small indulgence in the midst of all this suffering. Her mother told her her babushka had one three times its size. While she and her mother never knew a world without the horde, her babushka had lived in the time before. Natasha tried to imagine what that must have been like. Maybe it felt a little like today; a warm breeze blew the stray hairs that framed her face into her nose. She squinted and wiped at them. 

On the edge of Shield’s defensive line, Natasha noted the gaps where the horde had broken through, where motion detectors needed replacing or resetting, and where cleanup needed to remove corpses and remains of the horde. She focused intently on her work, liking the feeling of having a task. She edged closer to the woods surrounding the perimeter, then paused. Realizing she was quite far from the base now, she looked back at the ground she had covered and wiped at the sweat beading at her hairline. It was carnage from this standpoint. Craters of exploded mines gouged the earth like pockmarks. Most of the fallen Shield hunters had been recovered but the infected remained, littering the field like insects. It would be a while before they could gather and dispose of all the remains, especially when some of them were no more than bloody pieces. Natasha pursed her lips and turned back to look at the tree line. It was quiet. A shiver ran up her spine as she realized she was near the place where Steve had nearly killed her a few days ago. She knew it was ridiculous, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched when she was here. Natasha withdrew her knife from its holster at her thigh, trying to convince herself that she was safe in the bright daylight. That the nagging fear she felt was just a memory, nothing more. Maybe it was time to turn back. 

From her left she heard a soft rustling. Paranoid, her eyes flew to the source of the sound. She barely had time to react before she was ambushed. She lost her footing, cursing as her ankle ached dully. Like a nightmare, Steve loomed over her, catching her wrist in his grip. His eyes were still silver against black, skin still cold and pale, his pointed teeth twisted into a grimace. Natasha was presented with such conflicting information, that her brain struggled to process it. It was daytime, the sun was high overhead and he was still infected. How could he be here? 

Natasha slashed at him with her blade, and he leapt back, the blade barely missing. She flipped the knife in her grip and swiftly stabbed it into his side. Steve winced and released her, taking the knife with him as he stepped back. 

She scrambled away from him, feeling like a child running from the monsters again. Terror gripped her as he pulled her blade free with a grunt and dropped it at his feet. How could he be here? He seemed ethereal in the light of the sun. His blonde hair caught the light as it filtered through the trees and danced in patterns across his form. He was oddly angelic. He should be burning. 

Natasha fumbled for the blade at her ankle, pushing herself to her feet, but it was too late. Steve grabbed her and she twisted in his grasp, shouting for help as he held her tightly against him. She was too far out to be heard. Natasha was thankful she wasn’t facing him. She didn’t need to see his expression as he corrected the mistake he had made in sparing her. 

“ _ Stop,”  _ he hissed in her ear, breath icy on her face. 

Natasha’s heart pounded; she knew he must feel it as she pressed against him. The thought made her squirm to get away. It felt too much like the other night and a wave of shame rolled through her as she remembered how he had held her like a shield in front of Clint and the others. Steve held her tighter, pressing her to him. "Natasha, please," he whispered. 

The sound of her name made her freeze. He sounded almost… desperate. It took her a moment, feeling like her brain reconnected to her tongue. He hadn't killed her, so he must be here for something else. "What do you want?" she asked slowly, suppressing her fear. She could feel him breathe against her hair. 

"Do you hear it?" he said. “It’s maddening, it’s tearing at me—I can’t think, I—” 

She fought her urge to resist him, eyes darting around for an escape. “Let me go,” she warned, trying to hide the edge of fear in her voice. “Don’t toy with me, get this over with or let me go.”

“Please just… I’m not here for that. Just listen.” 

She could hear a tinge of uncertainty in his reply. Was he… afraid? Natasha calmed a little against him, unsure of what to make of this. Between the rhythm of her own heart she felt it. The steady beat of his heart against her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't leave you all hanging like that. Enjoy!   
The new chapter will be posted next Friday, Saturday, or Sunday.


	7. I'm Nobody! Who are You?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a super long chapter, which is why the pacing is a little different. See the notes at the end for posting updates for the next week. Enjoy!

Natasha could hardly fathom what she felt. She froze, mind racing as Steve held her to him. His heart was beating. A small, shocked breath escaped her and Steve released her from his grasp. Natasha stepped back and whirled to face him. What did this mean? Had the cure worked?  Steve observed the shocked expression on her face, his own expression clouded over in confusion. Natasha slowly grasped the hilt of her knife.

“What did you do to me?” he demanded. Natasha shifted back. No one knew how the cure would affect him, or if it even would affect him. She eyed him warily, unable to answer. He moved a step forward. 

“I can’t—” He paused, upset. He didn’t seem to have the words to explain himself. He seemed distracted, lost in his own head. What was wrong with him? The whites of his eyes were still tinted black with infection. His irises were still white. While he could tolerate the sun, he still seemed irritated by it. His appearance hadn’t changed. Remembering his mimicry of emotion, skepticism crossed Natasha’s face as she pulled away from him. Was this a trick?

Seeing her retreat, Steve reached for her and Natasha reeled, knife in her grasp, ready to thrust the blade into him. He backed off, but seemed desperate for her to stay, watching her as if willing her to understand him. 

“Steve,” she said, snapping his attention to her. “What is happening?” 

“I feel,” he whispered, “I feel everything. It’s eating at me. I can’t rest. I can’t focus. It’s all I think about— this awful pit inside me.” His hand grasped at his stomach, twisting the fabric of his shirt into tight knots. 

_ Guilt _ . Natasha’s eyes widened and she scanned his face, looking for answers. 

“This, thing,” he said, clutching at his chest, “it’s all I can hear now. It’s so loud, so…” Disgust flashed across his face as he recalled where he heard the sound before. “Human.” 

Natasha blinked, processing his reaction. 

“I want to go back,” he continued,“Turn me back to how I was.” 

Steve looked at her desperately, as if expecting her to fix him. But she had no idea what was really happening to him. He seemed so conflicted, his face a mix of frustration, fear, and remorse that he couldn’t even begin to understand. Natasha studied him with interest. She had never seen an infected look so strangely vulnerable before. He shifted as if uncomfortable with her scrutiny. 

“This is turning you back,” she said softly. “You used to be human, Steve. You had a life before all of this.” 

Steve seemed almost taken aback by her words. His face darkened and he descended into silence. It was as if he had never considered that as a possibility. He looked like he didn’t quite believe what she said.

"This is all I know,” he said quietly. He seemed so lost. 

Natasha pursed her lips and frowned a little. How curious that he wanted her help. She knew she couldn’t just let him leave. If the cure worked,even a little, he needed to come in to Shield for further analysis. “Steve,” she said lightly, “come back to Shield, let us help you.” 

His eyes narrowed and he withdrew from her. “I won’t be your lab rat,” he snarled. 

Sliding her knife back into its sheath, Natasha held her hands up non-threateningly. “I know you’re probably confused, but we can help, Steve, if you let us try.” 

A small smile played at the corner of his lips. That familiar cruelty flashed in his piercing eyes. “I don’t trust Shield,” he hissed, “You hunters are all the same— savage, untrustworthy.”

She could laugh at that notion. She would say the same of him. Natasha smiled humourlessly— from his perspective, Shield must seem like monsters.

“Then why are you here?” she asked, growing impatient with his caginess. “Why come to me, demanding answers that I don’t have? I’m part of Shield, Steve, I’m a hunter. What did you think I would do?”

Steve straightened, defensive. His gaze flickered, uncertain of himself. Natasha supposed it was hard for him to feel so vulnerable. “You could’ve killed me before, but you didn’t,” He said.

Natasha raised her chin indignantly, tired of hearing this. “That was a mistake.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed in response. 

“And now?” he asked.

Natasha was silent. He was right, she could fight, run, raise the alarm, and yet here she was talking to him. Steve cautiously stepped closer, clearly having given this some thought. 

“I have to believe, Natasha, that for whatever reason, you at least want to know what you did to me.” 

He was close now, but Natasha didn’t move, eyeing him angrily. He was right, but she would never admit it. When Steve saw how wary she was, he softened a little. 

“And… I don’t have anyone else,” he said quietly. He looked like he wanted to touch her, to take her hand and make her understand him, but he didn’t. 

“please, Natasha.” 

Her brow furrowed at his words. He could’ve lorded this over her, taunted her, belittled her, but he didn’t. He must be truly scared— or maybe he was just less cruel. What must it have been like to be alone all this time? To have to put trust in your enemy because there was nobody else? Natasha watched him for a beat, suppressing the sympathy she felt. Instead she folded her arms, masking her emotions with cool nonchalance. 

“Listen, Steve, I’m not a doctor or scientist. I don’t know what’s happening to you right now and I certainly don’t know how to fix this. If you want help, you’re going to have to come in to Shield.”

Steve’s imploring expression hardened and he moved back a step. But she wouldn’t budge. He hummed, face becoming an impassive mask. “I guess we have nothing left to discuss.” He retreated from her, backing into the shadows once more before disappearing from her sight. 

Natasha sighed and blew the errant strands of hair from the bridge of her nose with a scowl. As much as she hated to just let him leave, there was no way she could force him to come with her. She would report this to Fury. He would be interested in knowing that not only was Steve active in the day, but the cure also appeared to be working to some degree. She turned and headed back to base. 

* * *

Fury sat at his desk, mulling over Natasha’s report with great interest. She stood at attention, hands clasped behind her back as she watched him. His chin rested against his folded hands, his good eye calculating.

“Were there any other details you noticed?” he said, voice breaking the silence between them, “We know now that he… trusts you, to some degree. And you believe he was capable of feeling  _ emotion _ —” 

Fury paused and glanced at Natasha again, as if to confirm the truth of that statement. He found it unbelievable. Natasha would have too, if she hadn’t seen the genuine looks of fear, softness, pleading, on Steve’s face for herself. She just gave a little nod and studied the Shield emblem on the wall behind Fury’s desk. 

“I’m going to take your word on that,” he continued, eyeing her humourlessly, “ In addition, because of our cure he can withstand sunlight,  _ and  _ his heart is beating.” Fury rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. 

“Am I missing anything else? Or is that all?” 

Natasha did a quick recollection of what had just passed with her and Steve. “That’s all, sir.” 

Fury leaned back with a dry smile, “Well, shit, Romanoff. It’s been a hell of a week for you, hasn’t it?” 

Natasha smiled wanly. That was an understatement if ever she heard one. It was a hell of a month, was more like it. Fury paused, becoming a little more serious. He leaned forward, resting his chin against his folded hands again. 

“We need him to come in, Romanoff,” he said finally. 

Natasha shifted and stared at her feet. “I know, Sir.” This was the second time she had let Steve slip away. It was beginning to look like a pattern. 

Fury eyed her coolly. “You’ll have to try and make contact again.” 

Natasha raised her chin, clenching her hands more tightly behind her. She had a feeling this would be the case. It was clear that Steve didn’t trust anyone else, and he certainly wouldn’t come of his own accord. It only made sense to use her to try and lure him out again. 

“You’ll have an escort, of course,” Fury continued. “If he won’t come after you’ve asked so nicely, we may have to…  _ persuade  _ him.” 

Natasha nodded sharply. Though the cure might have changed Steve, she prepared herself for a fight. She had seen the violence he was capable of, the ruin and destruction he had brought on her home. This mission wouldn’t be easy. 

Fury gave her a wry smile and dropped his hands to fiddle with the pen on his desk. “Are you ready to get back into fieldwork, Romanoff?” Fury asked, noting her reaction carefully. 

“Yes sir,” she said, “though the medical team said I’m not supposed to engage in hostilities for another few days if possible.” 

Fury smirked and leaned back in his chair. “Hence the escort, but that’s not what I meant.”  Natasha looked at him questioningly and he leaned forward to appraise her seriously. 

“You didn’t kill him last time, Natasha,” he said bluntly, “For whatever reason, you didn’t do it. What’s done is done, but I need to know— if it comes to it, if it’s between The Old One—  _ Steve _ — or you and your team, are you prepared to ‘engage in hostilities’?” 

Natasha could feel the burn of humiliation in her core and it spread through her body, painting itself on her cheeks in a rosy hue. She straightened, hating that Fury even had to ask.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” she said with no hint of uncertainty. 

She needed this, especially after seeing Steve again. Fury always had a way of realigning her, of keeping her grounded. Fury met her gaze seriously, as if judging her resolve. Finally, he dropped his gaze with a little smile. 

“Good,” he said, “You’re dismissed.” 

* * *

While Natasha was relieved to have something more useful to do than perimeter sweeps, she felt awkward. It was humiliating to have messed up so badly in front of all the other hunters, but as the news spread that not only had Steve returned and he had found her again, and she  _ still  _ lived… Everyone had an opinion as to why that was. Natasha didn’t like having this tenuous relationship with Steve put display for other hunters. She was proud of her position as a respected scout and hunter, but the rumours, the things that were suggested about her seemed to question that. 

She didn’t care what they said, not really. It seemed to bother Clint more than it did her. She saw the way that Clint looked at her when he would tail her on her missions. He clearly didn’t approve of her being used as Shield’s bait and Steve’s plaything. He had chalked her unwillingness to kill Steve down to a poor judgement call and didn’t read anything else into it. It happened to the best of them.

“You had a hard choice to make, Natasha,” he had said, “it’s done now. I’m just glad you’re still here.” 

Natasha knew he would’ve made a different call, but they both knew there was no sense in reliving her mistakes. She was still here and now that glimmer of hope for the cure was returning. Natasha was determined to find Steve again, to make him return by whatever means necessary. It was convenient for the mission to have the dubious trust of an Old One, but after it was finished, she vowed whatever this—  _ thing _ was with Steve would be over too. 

Though Natasha and her covert escort went out looking for him, Steve never showed. Nearly two weeks had passed since their last encounter, and Natasha was beginning to think he was done with her. Her fellow hunters were becoming impatient with these stings, clearly seeing it as a waste of time. They could search all of Europe and never find him if he didn’t want to appear. 

During these missions, Shield had re-engineered and tested the cure on other infected, but it yielded completely different results. The horde infected had little sentience to begin with. When injected with the cure, some of their vital signs returned for a short period of time, but they remained mindless and feral. Further tests demonstrated that the more blood the infected fed on, the more their stage of infection regressed until it was like they had never been exposed to the cure in the first place. 

There was something about the Old Ones, something inherent to their DNA that could be the key to unlocking the cure. This revelation weighed heavily on Natasha’s mind. They needed to find Steve again, for the sake of developing a viable cure. However, the regression troubled Natasha. If Steve did find her again, would he still be in his semi-cured state? Or would he take their next meeting as his opportunity to tear her apart?

As time passed, Natasha’s foot had nearly made a full recovery. Each day she went further and further out, hoping to find out one way or another if Steve still had a conscience. Clint protested, concerned that she was too reckless in her search, but she had to do this. He stood in the doorway of her room today, like he had every day before, with his arms crossed and a deep frown on his face. 

“I don’t like it, Nat,” he said as he watched her gather her weapons and supplies for her search. 

“You never like it, Clint,” she replied. “In fact, you’ve been saying that since Fury first gave me this assignment. You can request another mission, if you like.”

She didn’t think it was possible, but Clint frowned more deeply. 

“I’ve been saying it because it’s true. We don’t know what he wants, really, and you saw the results of the test cure. Who’s to say he’s even fixed anymore? What if he’s just looking to kill you, Nat?”

Natasha looked down. She hoped today would be different. It was the same hope that she had had for the past fourteen days. “I know that, Clint. I know,” she said softly. “But I can’t give up on this, not yet. He was different, Clint, he was…” She looked up at her partner’s stony face. Anger tinged his eyes. He didn’t care what Natasha saw; to him Steve was a monster, nothing more. 

“Forget it,” she said, shaking her head. “I have to do this; this is our only hope at  _ maybe  _ finding a way to fix all this and there’s no way in hell I’m giving up now because you don’t like this.” 

Clint shifted, pushing himself off her door frame. “I’m just worried about you is all,” he muttered. 

She strode to the door and squeezed his arm gently, waiting for him to look at her again. “That’s why I need you watching my back.” Clint’s stupid, cocky grin broke through his icy expression. He jerked his head to the side, gesturing for them to go.

Outside, two hunters waited, talking quietly. When they saw Natasha coming, they fell silent. Disdain coloured their features. They straightened when Clint scowled angrily at them. Natasha sucked in a breath and held her head higher. 

“Let’s go then, boys,” she said, marching past them. 

They had been sweeping the area in a grid pattern. Often, Natasha went alone with her escort hidden around her. Today the plan was to search nearer to the base Natasha had escaped from. Natasha was healed enough for overnight missions now, so they made the hike out to the outskirts of the abandoned town the fallen base was located in. Night missions also gave her another opportunity to find Steve— though it would give him a dangerous advantage to meet him at night. Though Shield intelligence had not spotted much activity at all in the area, they still treated it as the hideout of an Old One. Everyone was on high alert. 

They were near enough today that Natasha knew she could reach the base Steve had lived in if she walked far enough. She couldn’t see it, but it loomed in her mind like a spectre. Nervously, Natasha withdrew her combat knife to inspect it for the millionth time. She didn’t look at the treeline, the ruins of the buildings around her. She didn’t have to look to know where her team was, watching her. Sometimes she wished they would let her go alone. Steve likely wouldn’t appear when she had her team with her, but she felt stripped of her defences without them. If he had regressed again to a monster, this would be so much simpler. She could kill him without feeling like she had doomed the human race by never observing the effects of the cure. She also wouldn’t have to acknowledge the tinge of humanity to him. Natasha paused and looked over her shoulder to the ruin around her. This used to be a town, once. Now it was a collection of rubble. Some buildings still stood, leaning precariously in the afternoon sun. A lot of things were destroyed in bombing raids in an attempt to stop the horde. But they had lost their air force decades ago as supplies became more and more scarce. Natasha cautiously entered the remains of a building, perching on the stone walls to take a drink from her canteen. 

As she sat, taking little sips of water, Natasha was startled by a light touch on her elbow. She whirled and came face-to-face with Steve. Immediately she dropped her canteen and leapt to her feet, withdrawing her blade. His face was tight, eyes flickering with an almost pained expression. He backed off immediately behind the corner of the building, hidden from the line of sight of the forest and other buildings. “You’ve been looking for me,” he said bluntly. 

Natasha pointed her blade at him, leveling it at his chest. She eyed him warily. Which Steve was she talking to? “Yes,” she replied. 

He seemed to want to come closer, but he stopped himself. “I told you, I’m not going with Shield,” he said. 

“I came alone.” 

Steve snorted, a hint of a smirk crossed his lips. “No, you didn’t. You haven’t come alone for weeks.” He paused a little, eyes flitting up and down her body. “Don’t you trust me?” 

Natasha smiled ruefully. Was that his attempt at humour? It seemed out of place to her. “Is your heart still beating, or have you regressed into your usual, wonderful self?”

He hadn't tried to kill her yet, that had to count for something.The trace of humour Steve had faded and he became a little more serious. 

“Would you believe anything I said?” He asked quietly.

Natasha paused, standing at the ready. If she yelled, she could alert the hunter team, but Steve would already have her choking on her own blood before they arrived. “Hell no,” she said. 

He looked almost… tired. He stepped forward slightly, as if deliberately trying not to scare her. “See for yourself, then,” he said, reaching for her hand. She pulled away, warily eyeing him. Steve stood still, eyes downcast, hands at his sides, waiting. Slowly, Natasha reached out and placed her palm over his heart. It still beat steadily against her hand. 

She quickly pulled away, readjusting her grip on her knife. Steve shifted uncomfortably, eyes still cast to the floor. Relief washed over her. The cure was still working. “So you know I’m not alone, you still don’t want to go with Shield… why are you here?” 

He exhaled slowly. “I was hunting.” 

Natasha stepped back, preparing to call in her backup. He stepped forward, speaking quickly. “I was hunting, but I can’t do it. This thing in me, it makes me feel their suffering,” he growled, “I haven’t fed since you infected me.” 

Natasha blinked, taking in his expression carefully. He seemed more sallow than she remembered. He looked exhausted. His eyes were touched with madness. 

“But I still want it,” he said, anguished. “I still  _ need  _ it more than anything.”

Two weeks was a long time. No one was quite sure what happened to an Old One who abstained from feeding. The horde became more and more frenzied until they turned on their own, or even themselves. Old reports noted some infected cannibalized themselves if left without sustenance. It was a force that drove them to the point of insanity. Her face hardened. “What do you want, Steve?” 

A humourless smile graced his lips, desperation filled his eyes. “You like a bargain, Natasha.”

She bristled at the sound of her name on his lips, not liking where this was heading. “If I come with you, I need blood,” he said. 

Natasha’s face twisted in disgust. He was right, though. At Shield they could provide it for him, feed him while they researched the cure. Could he make it that long? She carefully considered her options. “If I call in my team, what will you do?”

Steve looked at her sadly. “I don’t know,” he said with such agony, she genuinely believed him. “If they attack, I can’t guarantee their safety. Just promise me that I’ll get blood if I go with you.”

Visions of Clint rushing in and putting an arrow into Steve ran through Natasha’s mind. While it was tempting, she knew it wouldn’t end well. Steve couldn’t guarantee that he could control himself, and Natasha couldn’t guarantee that she could control her team, either. 

He couldn’t wait until they got back.  _ Whatever it takes, _ she reminded herself.  Natasha flipped her knife in her grasp. Steve tracked the movement, unmoving. He watched intently as she placed the tip against her palm and pierced the flesh. 

“What are you doing?” he asked, nervously. He clearly didn’t expect her to offer herself like this. Blood beaded around the slice, pooling like tears in her hand. 

Natasha silently held out her hand toward him, catching sight of the flicker of excited hunger in his eyes as he studied the blood. Natasha looked at her feet— she couldn’t look at him, she didn’t want to see him look at her so fervently. There was a pause, tension built between them before Steve grabbed her hand and forcefully brought it to his mouth, jerking her toward him. Fear settled like a pit in her stomach. This was a mistake. Natasha gripped her knife tightly, eyeing his back as she imagined plunging it between his ribs and into his heart. As she counted the ways she could kill him, she calmed down a little.

She couldn’t resist studying him a little, her eyes flickering up and down his form. Steve bowed slightly to better reach her. When he was close to her like this, it made her hyper aware of how much bigger, taller, stronger he was. His eyes were closed as if in reverent prayer, long lashes casting little shadows under his eyes as he drank, grunting like an animal. Natasha looked away, feeling him suck at the blood, wincing at his iron grasp on her arm and the sharp prick of his teeth against her palm. 

As he lapped at her blood, he became less desperate, eventually settling into an even rhythm. Steve took her hand lightly in his grasp, mindlessly playing with her fingertips. His other hand gently gripped her forearm, thumb skimming her skin as he pressed her palm closer to him. A shudder passed through Natasha as she wondered what blood must taste like to him. What could be so all consuming to make him act like this? His lips pressed against her palm as he nuzzled at the blood. His cool tongue was oddly soothing against the stinging cut on her palm. The feel his breath ghosting through her fingers sent a shiver through her. 

“That’s enough,” she said, jerking her hand back. 

Natasha tore away from his grasp and he looked dazedly up at her as if pulled from a dream. He licked his lips, tongue swiping away any traces of crimson. Natasha glanced at her palm in disgust; it was already starting to clot. The bleeding had nearly slowed to a stop. She wiped her hand on her pants slowly as Steve swiped his hand across his mouth, appraising her. 

His expression was soft, a shade of Steve from the photograph touched his features. He seemed almost,  _ grateful _ . Colour flushed to her cheeks as she buckled under the weight of his gaze. Her eyes fell to the ground, not wanting to look at him anymore. Whether this sudden flush was from humiliation, shame, or something else entirely, she wasn’t sure.

An awkward pause passed between them before Natasha inhaled sharply and turned from him. She shook herself slightly and marched to the ruined entrance, signaling to Clint with a whistle. Shaking off this strange encounter, she turned to face Steve. Her eyes met his sharply. He seemed more focused and alert now. 

“If you hurt him, I swear I will kill you,” she said, fixing her eyes on him. 

Steve looked her up and down for a beat before stepping away from her and perching on the remains of a windowsill. “I know,” he said quietly. He clasped his hands and fixed his gaze to the floor. A small sound caught both of their attention and they both turned to see Clint standing to Natasha’s right, bow drawn and arrow pointed at Steve. 

“Nat,” he said quietly, gaze fixed on Steve. “Looks like you found him.” 

He darted a look at her and then back to Steve. Natasha moved her bloodied hand just behind her leg, worried that he would know what she did. The very idea of it sent another flush of shame through her. Clint wouldn’t understand her reasoning. He wouldn’t forgive her if she said she did it to protect him and he wouldn’t understand if she said it was for the mission. She could barely justify it herself. 

Natasha swallowed, then turned her attention back to Steve, who still sat calmly in the same position she left him in. “He’s agreed to come in,” she said softly. 

Clint shifted, arrow still locked on Steve. “Oh yeah? Just like that, huh?” he said. Steve shifted and crossed his arms, cool indifference settled on him like a mask. 

“Just like that,” Steve replied. 

“Why the sudden change of heart?” Clint asked, a half smile playing at his mouth. Steve eyed Natasha. Her heart skipped as she envisioned him telling Clint about their bargain. She curled her fingers against her palm and stole a furtive glance at Steve, willing him to keep quiet.

“Hey! Don’t look at her, monster, look at me,” Clint snapped. Steve slid his gaze back to Clint slowly, a snarl pulling at his lips.“I asked you a question,” he continued. “Why are you suddenly so eager to help?”

Steve tilted his head slightly, taking a moment to study Clint with an air of amused indifference. “I suppose that’s none of  _ your  _ fucking business,” he sneered. 

Natasha could practically feel the indignation radiate from Clint. She turned as he tightened his grip on the bow string, murderous intent set on his face. If they fought, it could jeopardize everything. Natasha stepped in front of him and Clint faltered, lowering his bow slightly. His brow furrowed, trying to understand why Natasha shielded Steve like this. 

“I’m not going to let this chance slip away so you two can have a stupid pissing contest,” she hissed. “Let Steve come in first, and then you can defend my honor or whatever bullshit this is.” 

Clint lowered his bow, mouth set in a hard line. He looked at her in disbelief. “Is that what we’re calling it now?  _ Steve _ ?” Clint shot a disgusted look in Steve’s direction. “You of all people should know what this thing is capable of. I didn’t think you were so naive, Nat.” His words stung. She could feel her throat constrict slightly. Clint’s eyes flashed, his mouth pulling into a tight line. He looked like he knew he had crossed a line. 

“I of all people…” 

Clint tilted his chin indignantly. “You’ve lost more than most to this,” he said quietly, “or have you forgotten that?” 

Of course she hadn’t. She carried it with her every day. Clint knew that, he understood what she had lost more than anyone could because he had lost everything, too. He had been the one to find her, shaking and covered in blood in the ruin of her home. He had an idea of what she did to stay alive for the three days it took for hunters to finally arrive. But she still din’t really talk about it, it didn’t bear repeating. How could he hold that over her now? He knew what it felt like because he had lived through something like that too. It hurt that he would use this against her. He hated the infected as much as she did. She would never forget what they had done to her. 

Natasha’s breath hitched in her throat and she gave Clint a little shove, sending him back a step. 

“Fuck off,” she spat. 

They were too much alike sometimes, she and Clint. Their gut instinct was to hurt— to go for the kill. Clint smiled and gave a short, empty laugh. He slid his arrow back into his quiver and shook his head. “Fine, Nat. See you out there whenever you’re done fucking around with your little pet,” he said as he turned from her. 

Natasha stood, furious and shaking as she watched him go. When he was out of sight, she buried her face in her hands. She wanted to scream, to make them understand what she was trying to do. She couldn’t afford the luxury of hatred. She had to put that aside; there was too much at stake for her not to. Tears threatened to spill over and she pressed her fingers furiously against her traitorous eyes and breathed deeply. After collecting herself, she turned to Steve with what she hoped was a blank expression.

“Let’s go,” she said, willing herself to sound strong. 

Steve studied her for a beat, expression inscrutable. He didn’t let on what he thought about her little spat with Clint. Maybe he thought nothing about it at all. After a pause he pushed himself from his position and walked over, waiting for her to lead the way. Natasha turned to leave when Steve paused behind her. He reached for her, the movement drawing her attention. She looked at him questioningly as he withdrew his hand. 

“You have blood on your face,” he said. 

Natasha looked at her palm, still weeping blood. She must’ve smeared it all over her face like a child. “Shit,” she hissed, pulling her sleeves down and violently wiping at her cheeks. “Shit shit  _ shit! _ ” 

She couldn’t disguise the edge of humiliation and anger in her voice. Why couldn’t Clint understand what she was trying to do? Why did he have to dig at her like the other hunters did? She could deal with their remarks, but not from him. Not from her friend. Suddenly Steve gripped her wrist, forcing her hand from her face. 

“Stop,” Steve said, concern lacing his brow. Heat rushed to Natasha’s face where she had rubbed it. It throbbed with the beat of her heart. What must he think of her? He had lived for so long, experienced so much. He had to be at least a hundred, but he didn’t look it. She must seem like a stupid, naive little girl to him. Natasha suddenly felt small as he stepped closer, still holding her wrist. 

She didn’t resist him as he carefully lowered her hands to her side, releasing her when he felt sure she wouldn’t try to wipe her face off again. Natasha couldn’t help but wonder if this was what Steve was like when he was a man. Everything she knew about him was secondhand knowledge. Stories elevated him to legend status and she could never be sure of what was true or not. Was this who he really was? Gentle and kind? 

She shook the thoughts from her head, not wanting to let herself wander down this path. He wasn’t human, and she refused to let herself think like that. It would only lead to disappointment. Instead, she stared straight ahead, settling on looking somewhere between his collarbone and chest. She was so tired of this. So tired of it all. 

Steve paused for a moment, seemingly unsure of what to do. He appeared to gauge her reaction, before carefully, he reached out and swiped his thumb along her cheekbone and temple, wiping away any blood she had missed in her frantic scrubbing. His touch was cool against her inflamed skin. 

Natasha blinked hard, tears prickling in the corners of her eyes. Why was this happening? When all her allies turned from her, why was she receiving kindness from the thing she hated most? Despite her best efforts, a tear escaped and rolled down her cheek, stopping at Steve’s thumb. He withdrew from her as she reached up and wiped at her eyes with an embarrassed chuckle. She took a deep breath to compose herself, staring up at the bright blue of the sky. 

“Let’s go home,” she said. He nodded curtly and followed her as she left to rejoin her team. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really liked writing this part lol. Next week I plan on posting 2 chapters, one on Thurday/Friday and another on Saturday or Sunday. Consider it a little holiday bonus!


	8. Сказка

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is pronounced like Skazka, meaning fairy tale in Russian. You can read the story I adapted here if you want, it's called Maria Morevna or The Death of Koschei the Deathless. Vasilisa the Beautiful is another one of my faves.

Natasha sat in the field behind her family's home, the tall grass tickling her arms as it shifted in the breeze. The sun warmed her, soaking deeply into her skin as she sat with her eyes closed. Natasha sighed, peaceful. If she listened hard enough, she could hear her mother humming absently through the open kitchen window, her father coming in from the field to join her. They lived in the safety of a little Russian village. They didn’t need Shield, they had protection of their own— the Red Guardians. The sky darkened as night fell, stars twinkling indifferently overhead. 

Natasha squeezed her eyes shut. She knew if she opened them, she’d see it replayed again, the death of everything she had known. The screams started, distantly at first, but grew louder as they came closer and closer. Screams of desperation, fear, rage. Natasha didn’t have to open her eyes to know that a fire had broken out, the field blazed, grass reduced to ash around her. Her Babushka screamed for her as her father tore into her flesh, rending skin from bone, tearing her apart. She could hear her gurgle and choke on her own blood when her father finally crushed her throat. She didn’t have to open her eyes to see her mother, wild and terrified, reaching with her remaining arm, lips ripped open to expose her teeth, mouth moving as she tried to form words. _Natasha_, she mouthed wordlessly, _пожалуйста_. Nobody deserved to die like that. 

A sob threatened to break from her as she breathed shakily through the sensations assaulting her. The heat of flame, the acrid sting of smoke in her throat, the screams. She had stopped being able to watch this play out a long time ago. The screams grew louder, the heat more intense and Natasha whimpered. She could feel tears, hot and wet, track through the ash and blood on her face. But this time something was different. The terror subsided in favour of something… new. A cool sensation eased her dirty, scalding skin. 

She didn’t want to, but her eyes fluttered open and she sat face to face with Steve, kneeling in front of her. He was bloody, covered in viscera and bits of gore as he watched her, fingers skimming up her arms as they sat there. He was human. Not remembering what colour his eyes had been, her subconscious imagined they were brown. Steve smiled sadly at her and her heart thundered as he reached out to brush the tears from her cheeks, mimicking the gesture he had done days ago. She couldn’t help the feeling of safety, of trust that bloomed in her and leaned into his touch slightly. 

When she started awake, she could still feel the sensation of his fingers on her cheek like a brand. Natasha smoothed the red flyways plastered to her sweaty face and neck from her skin. Her heart smashed into her ribs, shaking her body with every beat. She sat up in bed, looking at the plain, grey walls, the small desk and chair, the trunk of uniforms and Shield attire in her little square room. The only thing that marked it as hers was a small potted rosemary plant on her desk that Clint had gotten her for her when she officially became a Shield hunter. Surveying her room helped to steady her and she sighed, accepting that sleep wouldn’t be happening right now. Natasha slid from her bed and braided her hair in the tiny, circular mirror that hung on the back of her door. 

What the hell was that? She hated that dream. She had had it ever since she was a girl, ever since she lost everything. This time it had been so much worse. Why had she dreamed of him? Natasha flushed in anger. She wanted nothing more to do with Steve. The walk back to Shield had been a tense one. Natasha was right to offer Steve her blood, her team had been rough with him as they put him into restraints and marched him forward like a captured animal. Steve immediately closed himself off, retreated inward. Her team made the mistake of provoking him only once, tugging him sharply by his restraints like a dog on a leash and laughing. Natasha didn’t have time to react before Steve seized one hunter’s arm and yanked it, face twisted in a wicked smile. The man’s arm separated from its socket with a sickening pop and the laugh died in his throat. 

The other hunters rushed Steve, weapons drawn before he could do anything worse to their friend. Before she knew it, Natasha had stepped in front of Steve, forcing him back a couple of steps to try and get him to back off. She hated the horrified anger on Clint’s face as she levelled her icy stare on her team.

“I don’t know what the fuck kind of game you think this is, but we are dealing with an Old One here,” she reprimanded. The injured man shakily gripped his arm as it hung unnaturally at his side. “The mission isn’t done until he’s back at Shield, forgetting that cost you.” 

Her team stood down a little, hating that she was right. After this Natasha kept Steve close, putting herself between the other hunters and him. The rest of the trip was spent in resentful silence. They didn’t know how close he came to ripping them to shreds.

When they had all returned, Natasha understood Steve’s unwillingness to come in to Shield. Upon his arrival, he was violently apprehended, subdued with cattle prods when he resisted and ushered to a holding cell. Clint and her team scattered, leaving her alone. She could only imagine what they would say about her this time. But she had followed through. She did whatever it took to get everyone here in one piece, even if that meant she was at odds with the other hunters. Fury was pleased, at least. He didn’t seem to mind that she used Steve’s trust to protect her team, or that she stayed with him until they got back to Shield. He was just glad to have everyone here, mostly intact, with their asset. He smiled dryly at her report and congratulated her on her judgement. 

Natasha discreetly informed Fury of the price of getting Steve to come in. She left out the detail about giving him her blood, fearing he might think less of her. Everyone else already did, and she didn’t need Fury’s opinion of her to sink any lower after she let Steve go during the attack on their base. Fury, shrewd as ever, agreed to set aside some of the donated blood kept in the facility for him. 

Feeling restless, Natasha pulled on a sweatshirt and left her room to wander the base. When she passed the stairwell that lead to the holding cells, she paused, overwhelmed with a sense of dread. Steve would likely be awake now too. Maybe he never slept. Somehow that thought disturbed her, imagining him awake, waiting, anticipating. Testing began almost immediately upon his arrival. Results were still coming in, but it seemed like the cure still had an effect on him for the time being. She wasn't sure what the tests involved or how invasive they were. She told herself she didn't care. Shield had their asset and a cure seemed more promising than ever. She never wanted to see him again. Natasha went to the training room instead to take out her frustrations on the punching bag. She stayed in the training room until the sky lightened. Sweaty and exhausted, Natasha shoved her hair from her face. Others would be getting up soon. With a sigh, she headed to the showers to start her day. 

Days bled into one another and Natasha drifted, feeling useless. She couldn’t go to the lab, it only reminded her of her violent encounter with Steve and the death of Sarah, the head scientist. The other lab techs didn’t want her there either, especially after she let Steve get away. Natasha avoided Steve’s cell while testing continued, determined to put their encounter behind her. She was often alone or sent on little missions when Fury could find something to do. She felt like she was in limbo, given no meaningful assignments, no work that gave her any sense of purpose. Clint was busy with fieldwork. She was still angry with him so that suited her just fine to not speak to him. But she was tired of everyone else treating her like a pariah. 

It had been going on a week since she had brought Steve in to Shield and was finally Natasha’s turn for lookout duty. She didn’t mind the work. Everyone did it on a rotating schedule and she was glad to at least feel like she had something meaningful to do with her time. Natasha went to relieve first watch early, climbing up to the nest that overlooked the compound. Things always seemed different up here, more removed. The fencing and perimeters had been repaired, the landmines deactivated and replaced, but some defences were still being reworked and strengthened. If nothing else, Steve’s attack on the base had shown them what their weak points were and Fury was determined not to let it happen again. 

She was just getting settled in when she heard someone approach the ladder below and climb up. She turned as Sam popped through the trap door to join her. She smiled a little. 

“Hey,” she said as he settled down next to her with a grin and opened the equipment case. 

“Nat,” he said taking out the spotting equipment, “You wanna be sniper or spotter tonight?”   
Natasha took the rifle from him and checked it over. She hadn’t seen Sam since he rescued her from Steve. That felt like a lifetime ago. He had missed a lot while he was away. At least he wasn’t here to witness her lapse of judgement in saving Steve. 

“I’ll shoot,” she said. 

Sam handed her the old bolt-action rifle outfitted with a night vision scope. She checked the weapon over, making sure the safety was off and that there were a full count of bullets loaded in the magazine. Sam withdrew his spotter scope and sat back next to her. Natasha sighed and settled the butt of the rifle against her shoulder. They were quiet for a while, scanning the perimeter for signs of the horde, hydra, anything that might be a threat. 

“Ten o’clock” Sam said bluntly.

Natasha aimed the rifle, searching through the night vision scope to Sam’s indicated position. She spotted a figure wandering in the dark.

“Can we get confirmation?” she replied.

Sam shifted, adjusting his scope. “I’ll signal tower two”

He got up and used his flashlight while Natasha kept her eyes on the target. She could hear the click of his light as he signaled in Morse code to the second guard tower. He then joined her again, taking up his scope and finding the target. The second tower trained their floodlights on the field, causing the figure to turn around and face them. There were two of them, eyes shining in the light as they stretched their mouths open in an inhuman screech.

“Confirmed,” Sam said, “I count two confirmed infected.”

Natasha exhaled and put the first infected in her sights. Its silver eyes flashed menacingly, searching for victims. She squeezed the trigger. There was a flash, a loud crack and she saw the infected fall, its head blown apart. She then pulled back the lever and chambered another round as the second infected sprinted for the compound. She fired and hit the thing through its leg, causing it to crumple to the ground. She quickly chambered another round as it scrambled, searching for its attacker. She got it in her sights, aiming the reticle between its glowing eyes, and finished it.

“Nice shot,” Sam said quietly.

Natasha pulled the lever back. “Thanks”

Sam signaled tower two the all clear and the floodlights returned to sweeping the area around the compound. Sam and Natasha returned to silence. He had never been particularly chatty, not like Clint was. He was stoic, but had a dark, wicked sense of humour. Natasha was shocked the first time she heard him rib Clint. Sam always seemed so professional. 

“Where were you stationed, Sam?” Natasha finally asked, making small talk.   
  
Sam inhaled, never taking his gaze from the scope as he scanned the perimeter for more infected. “Dunkirk,” he said quietly, “We were supposed to make contact with our associates in England.” 

Something in his tone implied the meeting didn’t go well. Natasha glanced at him to find he stared into the middle distance, a hardened look on his face. 

“What happened, Sam?” 

He glanced gave her a wry smile. “They never showed. It’s gone dark over there.” 

Natasha bristled at the news. The testing for the cure couldn’t happen fast enough. 

“They might’ve had to backtrack. We’re going to try to make contact again,” he paused, glancing over at her, “Actually we’re getting a team together. We could use you, Nat, if you wanted to join.” 

She was elated at the prospect. She would love to get the hell out of this place. She was tired of the way people looked at her, the way she avoided certain areas like she was a stranger in her own home. If she left, she wouldn’t have to risk talking to Clint, or thinking about Steve. 

“I’d love to,” she said softly. 

Sam smiled and they sat quietly in each other’s company, scanning the perimeter for threats until they were relieved of duty by the next watch.

* * *

  
That morning as Natasha prepped for her mission with Sam, she was summoned to Fury's office for a briefing. Natasha frowned. She knew her orders, and she didn't think joining Sam’s team warranted Fury's attention. It’s not like he was giving her anything more important to do. She cautiously headed to his office, and entered, standing at ease with her hands clasped behind her. 

Fury glanced up at her with his good eye. "Close the door, Romanoff," he said. Her brow knit in confusion but she turned and did as he asked. "New orders," he said flatly, handing her a dossier. She took it from him and opened it. It was Steve's sketchbook. She couldn’t help the awful disappointment that settled over her. 

"Sir?" 

Fury stood and paced behind his desk, face furrowed in annoyance. “You are aware, we have been testing the asset’s response to the cure.” Natasha nodded, waiting for the ball to drop.   
“As of four days ago, he stopped communicating with our team. He refuses any blood we offer.” 

A pit of anxiety dropped in Natasha’s stomach at the mention of Steve and blood. It still plagued her that she had fed him like that. While the cut had long since healed, she found herself thinking about what possessed her to do it in the first place. The rational side of her reasoned that it was done with the best intentions, that it was a means to an end. The hunter side of her was ashamed. 

“What’s that got to do with me?” she asked coolly. 

Fury eyed her. “We know the cure works to some degree. Analysis shows there’s something inherent to his DNA that makes it work. We also theorize that that could be what makes him an Old One. That was Hydra’s ultimate goal when they unleashed this curse. The genetically… chosen… were supposed to evolve or some _bullshit_ like that.” 

Fury always did have a particular talent for enunciating curse words with such emphatic deliberateness. It made Natasha smile. “What we don’t know is how this is impacting him psychologically. You suspect he might have some kind of… conscience. We can’t evaluate any changes or regressions he is going through if he won’t respond to our damn psych eval.” 

Natasha watched him carefully. “What do you want me to do? I’m not a psychologist.” 

A wry smile graced Fury’s expression. “We need to know why he’s refusing blood. We can’t have him turning feral and ripping some poor lab tech’s arm off. Given that he seems to have some kind of…” he gestured, looking for a word, “attachment, with you, we want you to talk to him. These Old Ones don’t have many weaknesses and if he has one, we need to exploit it.”

Natasha bristled at the thought. She didn’t want to see Steve again, especially not after their last encounter. Fury noted her discomfort, stopping his pacing to stand in front of her. “That sketchbook is a window into what he’s been thinking. Use it to gain some insight into him. I don’t care how its done, I just need you to provoke a response,” he assured her. It wasn’t that she was worried about. She thought of Steve gently caressing her cheek and pursed her lips.   
“We need you here, Natasha. If there was another way that worked, we would be doing it.”

Natasha met his intent gaze, still bitter that she was asked this at all. She supposed Dunkirk was off the table. She nodded sharply. “Of course,” she said. “I’ll do what I can.” 

* * *

Natasha asked for privacy in her meeting with Steve, convinced he wouldn’t speak to her otherwise. Agreeing with her sentiment, Fury pulled the guard detail from the cell block and stationed them just outside. Natasha cautiously entered the hallway. It was quiet. She silently approached Steve’s cell. It was a plain concrete cell closed in by two sets of steel bars, one in front of the other so the prisoner couldn’t reach through the bars and grab anyone. It was harshly lit with sickly fluorescent bulbs that buzzed overhead. Normally it was used to hold the horde infected, so it was bare save for the small mat they provided for Steve. He was curled on his side facing the wall. He had on a clean grey Shield medical recovery shirt and pants. It was strange to see him again after actively avoiding him for so long. Seeing him now sent a wave of resentment through her. She had missed out on a mission for this. Steve shifted when she stood in front of his cell, but remained facing away from her. 

After a long pause, he broke the silence for her. "I thought you were done with me,” he said, the familiar edge of cruelty saturating his voice. 

Natasha didn't know how else to respond, so she gave him the truth. "I wanted to be," she said. 

Steve sat up, pushing his back against the wall as he did. His white eyes were shadowed by his long lashes as he silently observed her through hooded lids. The harsh lighting and pale clothes washed him out, made him ghostly. "So why are you here?”

Natasha shifted, uncomfortable with the way he studied her. She cut to the chase. “I’ve been told you’re not drinking blood anymore. Why?” 

He watched her tiredly, a small smile gracing his lips. “Is that what your director would like to know?” he mused, “I wouldn’t answer their interrogators before so they sent you. What’s so special about you?”

Natasha set her face into an impassive mask. “You tell me, Steve.” 

He smirked and watched her with more interest, sitting up a little more comfortably. “You’re a hard one to pin down.” 

She could say the same for him. He had every opportunity to kill her, but he didn’t. He trusted her enough to seek her out, but was standoffish now. Her mind danced around the memory of his touch, the way he had looked at her in her dream. She clenched her fists, pushing the memory away. It didn’t matter. 

Steve seemed to come to the same indifferent resolve she had. He closed himself off, became distant again. Sensing she was losing him, Natasha took a half step closer to his cell, determined to do this. She had lost face, her ego was bruised. She wanted to prove to herself as much as anyone else that she could do this. She could complete the mission that was asked of her. 

“Steve,” she began, but he only laughed cruelly in return. 

“There’s nothing you can say that they haven’t already tried. Run along and report back, Natasha. You’ve got your specimen. What I do in my own time is nobody’s goddamn business.” 

He lay back down, turning his back to her. Natasha clenched her jaw, staring daggers into his back. When he didn’t move, she turned and strode away from his cell. She would report back that this hadn’t worked. This was a useless venture. As she approached the door she stopped. Fury had trusted her with this mission. Was she really going to give up, let other people deal with this because she felt a little out of her depth? Because Steve made her uneasy? If this could help, if this give Shield more insight into the Old Ones, the disease. If this could lead to a cure... Her mouth was set in a hard line as she seethed. 

If Steve was surprised when she returned to his cell, he didn’t show it. Natasha slumped against the wall beside the bars, settling to be more comfortable on the hard floor. If Fury was right, if Steve had some kind of attachment to her, then she would use it. 

They sat in silence for a long time. Natasha was quiet as she planned her next steps. How could she approach this to learn what she needed to know? They both knew what she was here for, but clearly interrogation methods weren’t going to work with Steve. He met cruelty with cruelty and responded to violence in kind. That was his nature as an Old One and clearly not a viable strategy. But she had seen glimpses of gentleness. It had been stamped out of him here, he had his guard up around everyone, but she had seen it. She had to believe that it was still a part of him. But now Steve had likely lost what little trust he had in her as well when she left him alone, abandoned him to Shield’s testing. Maybe she could find a way back to that. When she spoke, her voice seemed too loud, echoing in the empty cell block. 

“Once there lived a warrior princess named Maria Morevna.” Natasha paused briefly to recall the story, trying to recall her father’s words to her as a little girl. She had spoken Russian back then, which further complicated things as she tried to put the tale into English. “She was fearsome in battle, leaving behind entire armies of fallen soldiers in her wake. But one day she met a prince named Ivan who won her love with his cleverness and kind nature. They were quickly married, and he came to live in her castle. But Maria could not change her nature. She went off to war, leaving Ivan behind. Before she left, she told him not to venture down to the dungeons while she was away. She made him swear he wouldn’t…”

Natasha fell silent for a moment, crossing her legs under her to sit a little more comfortably before she continued. 

“Overcome with curiosity, Ivan disobeyed, needing to see what had his wife so worried. When he opened the door to the dungeon, he found a man bound in chains in the dark. He was thin and emaciated; his eyes were filled with madness and rage. Horrified, Ivan scrambled to leave but he stopped when the man spoke. ‘Please,’ he rasped, ‘I only want something to drink, I’m so very thirsty.’ Ivan was kind. He took pity on the poor man and relented, giving him some water. What was the harm in letting him have a drink? ‘More,’ the man begged after drinking. Again, Ivan took pity, giving the man more to drink. After drinking more and more, the man began to change. He no longer begged for water, he demanded. He sat up straighter, his strength returning to him. Ivan felt fear strike through him like lightning, but it was too late. The man snapped his chains, breaking free from the dungeon and disappearing into the night. It wasn’t until Maria never returned that Ivan understood what he had done. The man that was imprisoned was the immortal Koschei the Deathless, a cruel and violent man. He took Maria Morevna intending to punish her for his confinement all these years.”

Natasha paused again, trying to pull the remainder of the story from the recesses of her mind. It had been so long since she heard it, and she knew when she retold it now that it was missing details and important parts. She was never much of a storyteller, that had always been her father’s specialty. Maybe this didn’t even matter. Steve probably wasn’t listening. When she was quiet for too long, she heard Steve shift, his voice echoed in the empty cell.

“What happens next?” he prompted, pulling Natasha from her thoughts. Surprised, she turned to peek into his cell, not expecting him to care. Steve was still facing toward the wall with his back to her and Natasha sighed and rubbed her temples. 

“Ivan searches for her, journeying far into Koschei’s lands to get her back. He vowed never to rest until she was safely returned. When he reaches Koschei, he knows he is no match for him. I think…” she hesitated, trying to recall the way her father told her the tale. “…When Ivan finds him, he begs for Koschei to spare Maria, to return her to him safely, but Koschei demands he leaves. He will spare Ivan once for the kindness he showed, when Ivan refuses, resolved to save Maria, Koschei kills him and cuts him into pieces, throwing them one by one into the sea.” 

This was probably not the best story to tell, she realized. She should’ve started with something nicer, Vasilisa the Beautiful maybe.

“That’s it?” Steve finally asked.

Natasha played with the laces of her boot. “No, but it’s kind of hazy from there. I was a child when I last heard this. My father…” She couldn’t make herself finish that thought. The awful nightmare from nights ago came back to her, leaving her hollow. Mercifully, Steve didn’t press her. Instead she heard him shift again and they descended into stony silence. Maybe this was a bad idea. Why would he be interested in hearing what she had to say? It didn’t seem like she was getting anywhere with this today. While he was somewhat interested, it was unlikely that he would trust her again. She couldn’t blame him really. She had led him to this, promised him that Shield was doing what was best for everyone. And they were. She had to believe that. But she couldn’t help feeling like Steve spiraled further and further away from that kindness she had seen in him the longer he was here. The spark of hope that everyone else felt as they drew closer to a cure didn’t exist in him. It shouldn’t bother her, it shouldn’t matter what he thought… 

“Your story…” he started, startling her from her thoughts, “I think it’s fine as is. ”

Natasha snorted. Clearly he didn’t know how fairy tales were supposed to end. Indignant, Steve continued almost defensively. “Koschei didn’t do anything wrong. He escaped imprisonment and got revenge on those who wronged him.”

Natasha frowned and turned her gaze to the buzzing lights overhead. “Koschei the Deathless isn’t the hero, Steve. He’s evil— someone you stop.”

“He didn’t sound so bad the way you told it.”

“Yeah, well I did my best. What do you want?”

From behind her Natasha could feel Steve move closer to the bars. The longer he went without blood the more agitated he became. It felt all too familiar, too like the time before he was changed. “I want you to admit that she brought this on herself. She confined him, she brought him there, she did all this. She deserved everything she got,” he said quietly. 

Natasha turned to appraise him, wondering if he saw himself in the story. “And Ivan? Did he deserve to die?”

Steve was quiet a moment, considering her question before slowly giving his answer. “He could’ve stayed away. He could’ve left him alone.”

“It’s not that simple, Steve.”

“Yeah, well maybe it should be.”

“And, what? He’s just going to abandon the woman he loves?”

There was that word again— love. The thing that had driven him, that angered him as he struggled to understand what it meant. Maybe he never would. Steve scoffed. “Oh please. She wasn’t worth his life.”

Natasha exhaled sharply, not sure if they were talking about the same thing anymore. Maybe this was enough for now. She had riled him up more than anything else, but that was better than nothing. Fury had given her permission to get information from him however she saw fit. Natasha turned to face Steve better and he searched her, looking for something in her that she didn’t know if she had. What did he want from her? Why did he look at her the way he did? Like she was a puzzle that needed solving. “Steve…” 

At the sound of his name, he shut himself off again, eyes deadened against her pleading expression as he turned from her to face the wall again. Natasha sighed. Things were definitely worse. Taking hold of the far set of bars, Natasha hauled herself up to standing, tapping the metal thoughtfully as she contemplated her next move. Steve seemed to hum with anticipation, like he really wanted her to leave. She would try again tomorrow. Something told her she could break him, she only had to wait it out. 

“See you tomorrow, Steve,” she said softly and strode from the room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reminder that another update is coming out this Saturday/Sunday! I'm excited for the next few parts coming up y'all. Enjoy!


	9. правда

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is pronounced pravda- meaning truth in Russian. See end notes for chapter updates for next week.

The next morning Natasha woke early. In the bathroom mirror she scrubbed her face roughly, turning her interrogation with Steve over in her mind like picking at a sliver. Her report to Fury was frustratingly thin, though he didn’t seem to mind observing Steve’s slow descent into thirst-driven madness. It just meant that testing for the cure would be postponed until they could get him to drink again. But to Natasha it felt like failure. Every day that testing couldn't commence was a moment lost for obtaining the cure.

She needed a different tactic. While she riled him up yesterday, it wasn’t the response she needed. He shut down when he became agitated, but he had at least talked to her. That was more promising than the previous interrogation results. Steve could handle most anything they threw at him, but he became emotional when she spoke with him. Natasha braided her hair, frowning at her reflection. She didn’t like to admit it, but Fury was right. Steve seemed to have some kind of trust with her. It shouldn’t bother her, but it did. The question of why ran through her mind in perpetuity. Why did he treat her differently? What was so special about her?

On her desk behind her she spotted Steve’s sketchbook. There wasn’t much there anymore; most of the pages were taken by the lab. There was the picture of Peggy, a few drawings of places she had never been to, portraits of friends who were long dead. Most of it seemed to be from when he was human. There was no indication that he drew anything since then. It would be meaningless to him now. Natasha sighed, tying off her braid with a cord and turning to pick up the book from the table. This indirect approach was clearly having some kind of impact on Steve, maybe the sketchbook could be useful in other ways. Maybe it was time she returned it to him.

Natasha made her way purposefully through the base. She had an idea of how to approach Steve, but she would make him wait, she reasoned. She had control in this scenario, and she would decide when to see him next. But she wanted to see Sam off first. In the annex, Sam and his team were quietly doing a last equipment check before they were leaving. When he saw Natasha approach, he gave her a little smile.

“Hey Nat,” he said, “Sure you don’t want to sneak off with us?”

She chuckled in response. The thought had crossed her mind, though she would be facing serious repercussions if she did.

“I wish I could,” she replied. She wanted to go with him. But her mission with Steve was far more pressing. Yesterday she felt that she had something of a breakthrough with Steve and she had to try and pursue that. If it meant understanding more about him, getting him to be more compliant, then it was worth it. Sam nodded and adjusted his pack.

“I just came to wish you luck, Sam,”

He smiled warmly. “You too, Nat,” he said, turning from her. “I know you’ll get him.”

Natasha gripped the sketchbook tightly, suddenly feeling on edge. She knew she would. She inhaled and gave Sam a little wave. “See you.”

Sam gave her a wave and led his team out. Natasha sighed and looked at the sketchbook again. She went to the kitchen area to make herself a cup of tea first.

When she entered the cell block, the two hunters on guard duty greeted her stiffly, abruptly stopping their conversation. Natasha recognized them— Rumlow and Sitwell, two recent transfers to this base. They had been part of Shield’s Strike unit, carrying out dangerous night missions deep into infected territory. They never meshed well with Natasha. She felt like they had always talked about her, judging her. She did her best to avoid them, even before her mishap with Steve. When they saw her approach, they nodded curtly and abruptly ended their conversation.

“Romanoff,” Rumlow acknowledged with cool nonchalance. He was a big man, tall and muscular. His dark eyes fixed her, flicking her up and down with a tinge of cruel humour to them.Natasha held her head high, feeling the prickle of humiliation flush her cheeks. They never met her eyes, never really looked at her. “Rumlow,” she answered stiffly. Sitwell smiled wanly and opened the door silently. She stepped through and he closed it behind her. Faintly, she could hear them resume their conversation in heated, hushed voices. As Natasha stepped further into the corridor, their laughter echoed faintly behind her.

She sighed and shook off the anger that consumed her. She couldn’t let this rattle her. Taking a deep breath, Natasha stepped into the long cell block corridor and made her way to Steve’s cell. In all her preparations, the imagined scenarios, possible responses, ways Steve might try to intimidate her, throw her off her game, she never envisioned this. From her position down the hall she could hear Steve humming quietly to himself. It was a tune she had never heard before.

When she quietly approached his cell, she could see him sitting with his back to her, leaning against the bars. He seemed deep in thought, expression soft and wistful. Natasha was frozen, struck by how peaceful he seemed. He had every right to be frustrated and angry, but this is how he behaved instead? When he caught sight of her, he blanched, becoming stony and distant again. Natasha didn’t know what to say, but she quickly shook herself, pushing the sight of him, the echoing tune he had hummed from her mind. They stood in awkward silence for a minute before Steve cast his gaze to the floor. He seemed tense now, unsure of her presence. His body language indicated he wanted her to leave again, but he stayed where he was, waiting for her to do something. Natasha paused to study him, noting the way he avoided her gaze. It felt strange, out of place, to see him like this. Distantly, she wondered why he was in such a serene mood, but she pushed the thought away, wishing she’d never seen the gentleness he was capable of.

“I didn’t think you’d be back.” he said quietly. She had told him she would be, but he hadn’t believed her. Natasha didn’t have a response for that, so she knelt silently behind him, leaning against the second set of bars.

Quietly, she placed the sketchbook on the floor and slid it through the two sets of bars, nudging his hand with it. She could see the back of his head move as he looked at the object. “This is yours,” she said softly. “There’s some charcoal on the inside flap if you feel like drawing something.”

The air in the room shifted, becoming more somber. Steve gently took the sketchbook from her, opening it to the image of Peggy and tracing the curve of her face with his fingertips. It was the first time he was seeing this again since she had injected him with the test cure. He hid his face well, but Natasha didn’t have to see his expression to know that he was hurting. Whatever he had felt for Peggy was dredged up again, his fading memory jogged by the sketch and the note that she had left him. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen already, but this time he was faced with a new and confusing swirl of emotion that he wasn’t able to feel before. Natasha could only imagine what that must be like. He still wouldn’t know who Carter was, but he would at least have a better understanding of what he had meant to her. Natasha gave him space to process, leaving him by himself and sitting at the end of the hallway, waiting. They were silent for a long time.

Finally, she heard him close the book and place it in his lap. Natasha waited for a beat, feeling a little embarrassed by this whole thing. She had hoped the sketchbook might provide answers, and it had, in a way. She just didn’t like the results. She didn’t like seeing such softness from him. Once again, Steve broke the silence when he spoke, his voice echoing down the empty corridor.

“They talk about you, you know," he said quietly.

That was not what she had expected. Natasha swallowed thickly; it must be bad if even Steve knew about it. She knew what they must say, but she didn't want Steve to say it. Whatever he thought about her, she didn't want the unkind words to taint that. Not when he was the only person left on this base who seemed to tolerate her. Despite his softness, she couldn’t let him use her emotions against her. She couldn’t let this throw her. Natasha quietly stood and made her way back to his cell, thinking of a response to set him back in his place, but she froze once more when she saw his expression. He was angry.

“I know, Steve,” she said quietly.

He shifted and she could feel his eyes drill into her. “Doesn’t that bother you?” he asked.

Natasha didn’t want to let it bother her, she had told herself for so long that it didn’t matter. But it did. She felt like nothing. Nobody. She could handle that, she could push through that, but she was shocked to see now that Steve wasn’t angry with her, but on her behalf. A little rattled, Natasha paused to study him and he quickly looked away, turning his back to her again. Natasha sighed and leaned back against the bars. She could feel him adjust his position, still tense and upset. There was another moment of silence, the air between them heavy with uneasy tension.

Steve grew restless the longer they sat in an uncomfortable silence. Maybe this was enough for today as well. Natasha could wait him out, he would become more and more unsteady as time passed and he clearly had unsettled her more than she would’ve liked today. Natasha couldn’t understand why he cared so much about what she did. It shouldn’t matter to him. She was about to leave, shifting to stand when Steve finally spoke again.

“Will you finish your story from the other day?”

Maybe this was his way of keeping her here. She didn’t want to imagine what his days were like when she wasn’t here. Natasha silently filed this information away, adding to her understanding of Steve. He waited impatiently, almost fearfully, for her to respond.

“I’ll try,” she said. She had given it some thought the other night, trying to remember the details. She began hesitantly. “Ivan’s family retrieved his severed body. His sisters and brothers-in-law put him back together, piece by piece. Ivan was lucky, for his sisters had married three powerful wizards who took the form of birds. It was the raven who knew how to bring him back. He retrieved the waters of life and death to sprinkle over Ivan. His family wept with joy when he returned, exclaiming, ‘How long did I sleep?’ His brothers and sisters replied, ‘you would’ve slept much longer if not for us!’” Natasha paused here, trying to think of what happened next. “Um… Then... Ivan goes back for Maria. He will not fail in his mission to save her. Maria works to sabotage Koschei, discovering his weakness, not knowing that Ivan had died. Koschei buried his heart, locked it away so that he would never die. Then… Oh! Ivan had to get a magic horse to catch Koschei from another witch called Baba Yaga.”

Steve chuckled at that and Natasha flushed, fighting the smile that pulled at her lips. “Listen, I’m not making this stuff up.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, amusement in his voice.

“Shush! Do you want the ending or not?”

Steve was quiet while she thought. “So… right. So Ivan stands up to Baba Yaga’s tests and gets the horse to catch Koschei. When he catches him, it is night. He finds Maria before he finds Koschei and they embrace, crying happy tears. Maria is able to tell him to find Koschei’s heart, this is the only way to kill him. Ivan retreats for now. With the help of his bird brothers, flying high and searching wide, they find it. Koschei tries to stop them, but he can’t catch them in time. Ivan, no longer so merciful, digs up Koschei’s heart and pierces it with his blade, ending his reign of terror. They burn the body and he is Deathless no more. He reunites with Maria and they celebrate with the rest of the family,” Natasha finished proudly.

Steve was quiet for a while, letting her words sink in. Finally he said, “I think I still prefer the other ending.”

Natasha snorted, taking mild offence. “You should’ve heard the way my father told it. He was a far better storyteller than me.” She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. Clenching her jaw, Natasha descended into frustrated silence. How could she so carelessly divulge that to him? He acted strangely familiar with her, so eager for her attention, her stories, that she forgot herself. She wasn’t here to be his friend, she just needed him to believe she was.

It was quiet for a moment. Steve seemed to sense that she had said too much. Her descent into sudden silence gave that away. Steve shifted slightly to look at her, but she couldn’t face him.“What happened to him, Natasha?”

Natasha hadn’t talked about him to anyone. She didn’t need to say it before. When she was rescued, everyone knew. They didn’t have to ask her to know what she had been through, because they had been there, too. Everyone had a similar story, horde attacks, Hydra tainting water supplies, setting off bio-weapons to spread the disease. The result was always the same, burning homes, murdered families, infected loved ones. She was no different. But this was all new to Steve. He didn’t really comprehend the suffering everyone had endured.

“He…” She pressed her palm against the concrete, noting the rough edges, the cracks in its surface. The details steadied her. Her other hand twisted the fabric of her pants absently. Should she trust him with this? If Steve had returned hatred with hatred, then what would he do with trust? Natasha licked her lips. “He was infected. Hydra was still very active then,” she said bitterly. “He became one of the horde. He killed Mama, Babushka, our friends… He tried to kill me…”

She thought she had moved past this. It had been years since it had happened, but it still felt fresh. Tears blurred her vision and she looked to the ceiling to keep them from spilling over. “I got him first.” The buzz of the lights overhead were deafening. “I made sure no one else came back, either.”

The look in her father's eyes when she killed him still tormented her. Her mother still breathed when she turned on her next. _Sweet girl_, she had rasped, softly choking out her words. But she wasn’t sweet. _My lovely Natasha_. There was nothing lovely about her. How many lives had she taken in the three days it took for Shield to arrive? In her waking life, she could never remember. But she always saw them in her dreams. She told herself sometimes that they were grateful not to become monsters. They were at peace. The cycle of violence and horror ended with their deaths. But in her dreams they spoke with accusing eyes. _Why__ wasn’t it you?_

Her words hung between them, heavy and stifling. Natasha exhaled shakily, mired in grief. Maybe Clint was right when he accused her of forgetting herself. Remembering it now, she was filled with such hatred, such bitterness for the disease that had ripped everything from her. She of all people should know. She understood it better than anyone. How could she share this with someone Steve? He represented everything she hated. It was for the mission, sure, but she didn’t have to do it like this. She didn’t have to give him the truth. Hatred was part of what had fuelled her for so long. It burned at her core for so many years. Hope was necessary— but hatred. That’s what pushed her to become a hunter. How could she forget that? How could she give in to something weaker, softer when she was with Steve— an Old One, an infected, her enemy?

She was pulled from her thoughts when she felt Steve shift behind her, his presence looming as they sat quietly. Natasha became guarded, regretting sharing something so personal with him. It was wrong to trust him like that. After everything he had done, everything she had seen, he didn’t deserve this glimpse into her heart. Twisting to face him, Natasha was resolved to finish this, to shut him out, to become the tool that everyone needed her to be. But when she saw Steve she paused, her anger dissipating. He leaned against the bars, eyes downcast and forehead pressed against the metal. He looked tired, sad. “Natasha…” his voice was low in the emptiness of the cell block.

She wanted to pull away, to leave, but she didn’t. For reasons she couldn’t begin to explain, she could only numbly watch Steve’s grieved expression. It was cognitive dissonance, alien to see him look like this. It was like he knew what she had felt, like he understood what she had gone through. A pit of uncertainty settled in Natasha as she was reminded of the dream she had of him; the grief in his eyes, his gentle demeanour was so strangely familiar. He looked at her through the bars, and saw something in her expression that made him look away, long lashes descending like curtains as he studied the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly.

It shouldn’t mean anything to her. But Natasha couldn’t help the flush of heat in her face, the sting of tears in her eyes at his words. It was such a simple thing, but no one had ever said that to her. In a base full of hardened people living hard lives, entangled in their own private grief, no one had taken the time to tell a young girl— alone, angry, grieving— that they were sorry for her loss.

Natasha swallowed, the lump in her throat threatened to choke her and she didn’t trust herself to speak. What would she even say? She never knew she had even wanted to hear those words, but there they were. Natasha looked away, head resting against the bars. Her heart pounded against her ribs as she descended into stony silence. Why was it so easy for him to get to her like this? She was supposed to be a weapon, a way of exposing Steve’s weakness. It unnerved her that the opposite was also true. There was a chink in her armour, a dangerous fragility when it came to Steve.

It was too much for Natasha to bear right now. She had accomplished nothing, learned nothing about Steve. She moved away, ready to leave and as she did, her fingers slipped over his. The iciness of his skin sent a jolt through her. Natasha hadn’t realized how close she was to him, how their hands had inched closer and closer through the bars as they talked. It wouldn’t have been such a big deal had she not been feeling so vulnerable. Instead she felt electrified, heated by the brief contact. Steve seemed just as surprised as she was at her delicate caress of his knuckles. His eyes shot to hers for a moment and pinned her there, searching. It seemed to mean something entirely different for him and Natasha quickly withdrew. She was too close, feeling like she was spiralling further and further away from the safety of what she thought she knew as she moved closer to oblivion, closer to acknowledging that this strange attachment worked both ways.

Natasha looked away first, flustered and shy. Wordlessly she stood, Steve standing with her. She gave him one last furtive glance, noting the stormy expression on his face before she left him again with no promise of returning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I can do another double post next week! I'll be aiming for Thursday/Friday and Saturday/Sunday again. 
> 
> Happy Holidays everyone! I hope you all have time to rest and relax.


	10. Quid Pro Quo

It would be some time before Natasha steeled herself to see Steve again. She still hadn’t made any progress in finding out more about why he was refusing to drink. She hadn’t even gotten back to asking that. All she had learned through this process was that she needed to refocus, to get out of her own head. She had allowed Steve to rattle her and she was frustrated and humiliated by that. If she could wait, if she could let him spiral further into madness, then maybe it would be easier to break him. Easier to see him as a monster rather than a man.

But she didn’t have to see him today and she wouldn’t. This would be a good time to regroup and reassess her tactics. Natasha made her way to the training room, wanting to shake this uneasy feeling from her. It felt like failure to give Fury another mediocre report, she left out the details about telling Steve her personal history, only summarizing it as, ‘the asset seemed to respond empathetically to emotional stimulus’. But Fury seemed to recognize that she was making progress. At least Steve talked to her, that was more than other hunters could say. 

When Natasha entered the room, she had hoped it would be empty. She was tired of losing and even more tired of feeling the eyes of other Shield personnel on her as she worked around the base. There was talk that she was making progress— though her methods were scrutinized by personnel who had no idea what she was doing with Steve. That information was far above their clearance level. Some people seemed like they admired her, others seemed to judge her. She mostly wished everyone would just leave her alone. But she wasn’t so lucky today. Clint was in the training room, working at the punching bag. He glanced up when she came in, pausing mid punch. Natasha noted the black and purple bruising around his eye and a few cuts on his face. He must’ve just got back from a mission. It was hard not to grimace at the sight of him. Her anger had mostly subsided, but she couldn’t help the sinking feeling she felt when she saw him. He was the last person in this base she wanted to talk to.

“Hey,” he said quietly, looking like he was glad that she had stopped in. 

Natasha frowned a little, pausing in the door. If she left now, it would seem like she was running away, which was exactly what she felt like doing. Clint saw her hesitancy and took a half step toward her. 

“You need a sparring partner?” he offered. 

Natasha eyed him warily and sighed. It was always better than training alone. She joined him on the mat, setting her things down in the corner of the room. 

“Sure,” she said quietly. 

Clint had been one of the first hunters to train her. When she was a small girl she had refused to join the survivor camps. She had refused a chance at a peaceful life. Hydra had taken Russia and the rest of Europe was on the brink as well. After the fall of Russia and parts of North Africa, Hydra went quiet, attacks were less frequent and Shield scrambled to discover why. When other Russian survivors were gathered in the Shield facility, awaiting relocation to a colony, Natasha had marched up to Clint instead and demanded, in broken English, that he make her a hunter. She remembered how he had looked down, took in her thin, shaking frame, fiery red hair, freckled skin, and laughed. “Of course,” he had said. He had taught her so much over the years. 

Natasha threw a jab and Clint blocked it, countering with a sweep to her leg. Natasha dodged back a half step, blocking and trying to keep one step ahead of the flurry of attacks. Clint was fast, snapping his leg up in a front kick, he sent Natasha stumbling back. She didn’t have time to recover before he was on her, catching her in his grip and throwing her over his hip to the floor. Natasha tumbled and Clint stepped away from her. Frustrated, she picked herself up with a grunt and stood at the ready. 

“You seem distracted…” Clint mused, watching her. 

Natasha blew the errant hairs from her face and rushed him with a side kick. Clint grunted, stumbling back a step. Natasha threw a cross and Clint barely stepped out of the way in time. She kept pushing forward, throwing punches and kicks and sending Clint back further across the room as he blocked and dodged her hits. He finally blocked a jab, swatting it to the side and locking her arm in his grip. Clint held her in a joint lock, forcing her to tap out. 

“Is this about the interrogation?” he asked as he let Natasha go. 

Silently, Natasha rotated her arm, strode back to the centre of the room and got back into the ready stance. Clint frowned, a look of concern growing on his face, and rubbed his neck with a sigh. 

“Tasha…” 

Natasha rushed him again, this time going in for a tackle. Clint grunted as she connected with him and they crashed to the floor. Natasha wrestled him, trying to get him into an arm-bar hold, but he rolled from her grip. She grunted, trying to trap him but Clint slipped to her side and trapped her in a low hold, pinning her torso to the floor with his side and locking her arms beneath his. They panted for a minute, Natasha flushed with anger while Clint studied her. 

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” 

Natasha pursed her lips and struggled, trying to break his hold, but he only leaned more heavily against her, pinning her with his weight. 

“Natasha…” he huffed, searching her face. She finally met his eyes and sagged a little in his grip. Clint let her up and they sat there breathing heavily for a moment. He patiently waited for her to speak while Natasha gathered herself a little. 

“I…” she began, willing her voice not to break, but she didn’t trust herself to speak then. There was too much racing through her. She was isolated, stifled. Natasha was still angry with him for doubting her, for bringing up painful memories. She was angry with herself for letting Steve escape, for humiliating herself in front of everyone. She was afraid of the prospect of seeing Steve again, of having him peel back more and more of her layers. Worse still, she was scared of what she might find in herself if she allowed him to continue to see inside her heart. Instead she sat in bitter silence, staring at the floor. Clint still waited, never wavering at her side. 

“I’m angry,” Natasha finally admitted, “At you, at Steve… everyone… myself… and I can’t move past it.” 

Clint didn’t ask what set her off, he didn’t need to. He exhaled slowly and rubbed his face absently, deep in thought. Finally, he nudged her, making her look at him. “Natasha, I’m sorry.” he said. 

There were those words again. She swallowed and returned her gaze to the floor. 

“I’m sorry for what I said to you on our last mission,” he continued, “I was angry that… It doesn’t matter why I did it. It never sat right with me. I know I crossed the line when I said you should know better… and I’m sorry.” 

Natasha flushed deeply and nodded, wishing she could just forget the whole thing and move on. Clint inhaled and turned away. “I know what you’re doing is important, and that you messed up before. I know that.” Natasha curled a little more inward, hating that he could see what was bothering her so clearly. If he knew, then who else could see it? 

“You don’t deserve the treatment everyone is giving you, Tasha,” he said, nudging her a little, “And I had no right to treat you like that either. You know that, right?” Natasha nodded numbly in response. “Good, because I’ll personally fuck up anyone who says otherwise.” 

Natasha breathed for a second, wanting to make sure that she sounded strong when she spoke. “Is that what happened to your face?” 

Clint rubbed his nose and chuckled. “Yeah, actually.” 

Natasha faced him with an exasperated look. “Clint—” 

“Look, I heard something that wasn’t true… But… I had said something like that to your face. I realized I was a shitty friend to you, Tasha. So… the other guy and I, we ended up—  _ disagreeing _ .” 

Natasha smiled and leaned against him. “Thanks, Clint.” 

“Yeah.” Clint sniffed and patted her shoulder. He never was very good with expressing himself. He stood up and held out his hand to her. 

“Want to go a few more rounds?” he asked. 

Natasha took his hand and he pulled her to her feet. “Sure,” said, raising her fists again. Clint grinned his crooked smile and rushed her. She caught him with a push kick, knocking him flat onto the floor.

“Okay so I deserved that,” he said, trying to catch his breath.

“Yes you did.” 

Clint grunted and struggled to sit up. He rubbed his nose a little and cocked his head. “You just gonna stand there, or are you gonna kick my ass?” 

Natasha grinned, “What kind of choice is that?” 

Clint held out his hand to her again, “Well help me up then, my knees aren’t what they used to be.”

Natasha took his hand and hauled him to his feet. “If this is supposed to make me feel sorry for you, it’s not working.” 

Clint raised his fists and stood at the ready, “What, you’d hit an old man?” 

“Clearly.” 

Clint laughed and she got into ready stance, feeling so much lighter than when she had first come into the room. She could face this. She could do this. 

* * *

Natasha didn’t visit Steve for another three days. Taking the time to rethink her strategy and regroup. Whatever softness she had for Steve, she was determined to let it die. She spent time around the base instead, noticing that other hunters were a little less cagey around her. Some gave her curt nods in the halls, or brief hellos as she passed. Natasha wondered if it had anything to do with Clint. 

Whatever it was, she felt a little more sure of herself. Fury had tasked her to Steve for a reason and she was determined to get what she needed from him. Taking a deep breath, Natasha steeled herself and headed down to the cell blocks. 

When she came down to the outside door, she stopped. Rumlow and Sitwell stood outside the doors leading into the cell block, heads bowed in quiet laughter. Natasha stood up straighter and approached, fixing the two men with an icy look. They straightened and Rumlow smiled at her. As she approached, Natasha noted the dark bruising on Rumlow’s cheekbone, similar to the injuries that Clint had. 

Natasha only gave him a sharp nod in return, wanting to get this meeting with Steve over with, but Rumlow blocked her, engaging her in conversation. “Here to see the asset?” he asked, a slow smile spreading across his face. Natasha appraised him, unsure of what he wanted. 

“He’s a little touchy today.” 

Natasha frowned, not liking Rumlow’s implication. Sitwell smiled and snorted softly at his friend’s comment. “We warmed him up a little for you,” he said. 

They could’ve undone any modicum of progress she might have made in getting Steve to trust her. Before she could respond, Rumlow leaned in closer, invading her personal space. Natasha stood her ground as Rumlow inspected her with a perverse smile. “I’d be interested to know what you talk about with the asset. He really seems to think you two have something.” 

A pit of unease dropped in Natasha’s core. What had Steve said to them? “That’s above your pay grade, Rumlow. I don’t want your help, thanks,” she said icily. 

Rumlow clicked his tongue and backed off a little, eyes flicking her up and down with interest, as if he was trying to determine how she had managed to ensnare Steve. “I wouldn’t want to share that sort of thing either,” he said as Natasha pushed past him to enter the cell block. Rumlow grasped the door behind her and she could feel his eyes on her back. “I can only imagine what you’ve had to do to get his attention like that.”

Natasha shot him a dirty look over her shoulder to see Rumlow and Sitwell grinning wolfishly back at her before the door swung shut behind her and she was alone in the corridor. They seemed to relish in causing people trouble. She hoped they would both leave for a mission soon. If she was lucky, maybe they’d never come back. 

Natasha made her way down the hall to Steve’s cell. When she saw him, his space was in disarray. His sleeping mat had been torn to shreds, long gashes were ripped into the plain concrete walls. Steve stood in the centre of the cell, hands curled into fists, facing away from her. The unease in Natasha threatened to turn to fear as a chill raced down her spine. Today she was glad he was behind bars. Surely he had heard her as she came into the room, but he made no acknowledgment of her. 

“Steve,” she said cautiously, not stepping any closer to him today. She saw him start at the sound of her voice and he glanced at her. He was quiet, more reserved than usual. But there was something strangely predatory about him that made Natasha stay where she was. He must be feeling the effects of refusing blood by now. 

“I don’t want to hear any more of your little stories today, Natasha,” he finally said. There was a hard edge to his voice that suggested he didn’t want to see her. Natasha wondered if it had something to do with Rumlow and Sitwell. 

Natasha swallowed, steeling her nerves. She was determined to get the information she wanted from him today. If he was going to be obstinate, that suited her just fine. She could work much easier with that. “Good,” she said sharply, “there’s something I wanted to ask you instead.” 

Her tone of voice made him look at her a little more closely. 

“Steve, do you remember when we first met?” 

She could feel his tired eyes on her, curious. It took him a while to respond. “...It was in this place, wasn’t it? You nearly killed me, but you didn’t.” Steve seemed hesitant, unsure of his account. He seemed like he had been meaning to ask her for a while. Natasha’s heart dropped. He didn’t remember. Know one knew how much the infected remembered. Clearly Steve only remembered his time as an infected, and nothing of his human life. But now it seemed like his memory loss impact him even within the last month. She filed away this information for her report to Fury later. 

Changing tactics, Natasha faced him with great interest. “When we first met, you tried to kill me,” she said, taking a step closer to him. Steve stared at her, lips parted slightly, shocked. “You did this,” Natasha continued, rolling up her pant leg to reveal the puncture scars on her skin when he had grabbed her. His gaze flitted to the ragged skin, horrified. “I’m lucky to be here, Steve. You nearly threw me to my death. You really don’t remember?” 

He looked shaken but stayed silent. Natasha slowly exhaled as she surveyed him. He seemed lost in a haze, like he was trying to remember the events she described. Natasha saw the way he tried to control his responses, to try and be gentle when he answered her. His fingers shook and he clenched his hands into tight fists. He wasn’t hiding his anger, the madness of his thirst so well today. It bode well for her mission, but she couldn’t help the concern she felt as she watched him. Natasha pushed that down quickly. There was no place for softness and sympathy today. 

“No…I—” he finally responded. 

“Steve…” Natasha could sound gentle when it suited her. “I just want to understand. I want to know what you’re going through, what you are dealing with.”

He softened a little at that, considering her with an earnestness that gave her a pang of guilt. “Natasha…” 

“I’m trying to understand why you’re refusing to drink blood.” 

Steve searched her, his soft expression melting into one of betrayal as he realized what she was doing. What she had done all this time. He gave a short, humourless laugh and ran his hand through his hair, expression tinged with sorrow. He became closed off, guarded as he watched her. “I’ve been studying your kind while they’ve been studying me,” he said. 

“Steve—”

“Do you know what I’ve determined?” He leaned forward, lunging at the set of bars closest to him, voice laced with rage. “They’re not worth saving. They don’t deserve a cure. They deserve to be scrubbed from the earth.”

Natasha took a half step back, fear pricking the skin of her neck. He sounded absolute, like he really believed what he said. Steve smiled in response to her retreat. His eyes were flinty, a maliciousness took over his features that made her heart race. She was reminded of their first encounter. How easily he slid back into that monstrous cruelty. 

“There it is,” he hissed, eyes bright with hunger, “that scent. Are you afraid, Natasha?"

Natasha exhaled, refusing to be shaken. He would do what it took to get her to leave, to try and scare her off, but she wouldn’t give up on this now. Not when she had so clearly upset him. “Why don’t you drink the blood they give you? Why don’t you talk to the Shield scientists?” she pressed. 

He gripped the bars tightly, face twisted in a snarl. “Why do you devote yourself to people who so obviously despise you?” he growled. “Why do you insist on helping the people who give you nothing in return, who take from you until you’re left with nothing?” He frowned deeply, shakily exhaling as he searched her face for answers. 

She understood this feeling well. Sometimes she asked herself the same question. But she wondered why he cared so much about what she did. Natasha tilted her head, giving a sad smile. They both knew she what she would give to try to end this. 

“You know why,” she said quietly. 

Steve snarled at her, face tight with anger. Her response wasn’t what he wanted to hear. Maybe he didn’t really understand. Natasha straightened a little, eyes hardening. 

“It wasn’t them who ripped everything from me, Steve. Who tore my life apart and left me with nothing. It was monsters like you who did that.”

Steve’s face flickered, anger dissolving as he watched her. He looked away, swallowing thickly as he gripped the bars that separated them. 

“Why are you here, Natasha?” he asked weakly, “Why couldn’t you leave me alone?”

A rush of sympathy came over Natasha. The obvious answer was that she was here because it was her job. She didn’t want to consider any other possibilities. “I will, once you answer my question,” she promised. 

He chuckled, moving away from the bars slightly. “That’s the thing,” he said. “I don’t know that I want you to.” 

The air suddenly felt heavy between them. His words settled on her like a weight. That feeling, that chink in her armour threatened to undo her. She refused to acknowledge it here. The guilt, the feeling that she had betrayed his trust. How could he say that he wanted her to stay? Natasha stared at him, unsure of what to say. Steve looked at her tiredly, before turning his back on her and sliding down to sit against the bars. 

“Was anything you said real?” he asked, words echoing off the wall. 

Natasha could lie. She could tell him that none of it had meant anything, that she hadn’t given him a part of herself when she opened up to him. But she couldn’t give him the truth either. “Steve… Just tell me what I want to know.” 

He paused, bringing his hands to his face and sighing. “It makes me forget,” he said quietly. “Drinking blood, it makes me forget who I am. It tears away little pieces of me, of my memories. The other day— I already forgot things when I drank from you. It just makes me want more, until I can’t remember anything else. It makes me so full of—anger, hatred. convinces me to hurt and destroy. And…” he took a shaky breath. “I like it.” 

Natasha’s brow furrowed. While there were bars between them, she felt exposed being so close to him with no weapon.

“But I don’t think that’s me, and I’m afraid of forgetting that,” he said. “That’s why I… I don’t want to forget anymore.”

So that was the cause of his memory problems and why he didn't want to drink any of the blood that was offered to him. Silently, Natasha stood and brushed herself off, watching him carefully. She had what she needed from him, and now only had to finish this thing between them. She felt certain, like she was finally regaining her footing after being off balance for so long. She was a hunter first. There was no place for these feelings of sympathy or guilt, especially for someone like Steve. 

“This will be the last time I see you,” she resolved. “I’m not your handler and I have other things I could be doing.” 

Steve laughed dully, head leaning against the bars and Natasha pursed her lips. “We are done, Steve,” she declared as much to herself as she did to him. 

“Natasha, you really are naive,” he said quietly. A chill ran through her as he echoed Clint’s words to her during their fight. 

She fixed the back of his head with an angry stare. “Maybe you weren’t listening, I—”

“You keep coming back,” Steve interrupted. “When I refused blood, you came. You  _ offered _ yourself when I needed blood before. You listen, you trusted me enough to let me touch you, to tell me about yourself. How simple would it be to renounce me? To treat me with hatred, revulsion, violence, to get into the good graces of your little hunter friends? And yet you’re still here, you still come.”

Natasha backed away from his cell, hating that he was right. “I don’t know what you think you are to me, but I’m doing this because I was asked. I’m doing this for Shield, not because I care about you.”

Natasha willed him not to rattle her so much. She couldn’t explain what made her come back to him. For the good of the mission, without question. But why couldn’t she just switch off the guilt she felt for doing her job? Why did she have to feel his tenderness? Worst of all, why did he have to see through her like this?

Steve hummed, staring up at the ceiling, clearly not believing her. He made her feel so small, so insignificant. “You’re telling me that all of that, all of it— was because you’re Shield’s dog?” 

“Yes.” 

Steve turned to face her, a rueful smile playing at his lips. “Maybe you don’t give yourself enough credit, Natasha. Maybe you are a good storyteller after all.” 

Natasha clenched her fists tightly as she watched him. She tried to control the shake in her voice, and bristled when she heard it waver. “I hate you,” she breathed. She meant it. She really did. She felt it with every fiber of her being.

Steve sat unmoving, his back to her. There was a beat, Natasha stewed in her rage, unsure if he would even acknowledge her. It didn’t matter if he did. She had made herself clear and she had what she had been tasked with getting now. Whatever Fury decided to do with that information was no longer her concern. Natasha turned, and headed down the corridor. 

“I know.” His voice quietly followed her. “But that’s not all you feel, is it?”

Natasha flung the door open and left. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone had relaxing holidays! Thank you to those of you who left comments wishing me a Merry Christmas! Some news-- I'll be posting another chapter on Sunday. It'll either be one long one, or a short one and then a longer one. I guess you'll find out on Sunday when I post it lol.


	11. Doubt Truth to be a Liar

Natasha retreated to the bathroom to collect herself before making her report to Fury. She wrenched on the tap, focusing on the gush of water that came sputtering out. Why did Steve get under her skin like this? Natasha inspected her reflection, hoping for answers in this mental interrogation. Her brain supplied nothing of use. Her heart pounded rapidly. Neither were responses she could puzzle together. 

She hated him, that much was true. She hated that he made her feel weak, he made her lose control of herself. But…  _ That’s not all you feel _ . She splashed water on her face in frustration. There was nothing there, she convinced herself. There was nothing to read into. And yet, here she was thinking about him, puzzling over his words, remembering the way he had touched her, looked at her, spoke to her… 

Water dripped from the tip of her nose into the sink, joining the swirl as it gargled down the drain. Refusing to pursue the thought further, she turned off the tap and met her reflection’s stare again. Whatever it was she might feel, she was determined to let it die. 

Her report to Fury was straightforward. She relayed what she perceived his mental state to be and that he had finally revealed his reasons for not drinking blood— it made him lose his memories, and Natasha suspected, made him regress into something less human as well. Fury eyed her upon hearing this part of the report. “I suppose we’ll have to be more strategic about feeding him,” he said. 

Natasha nodded, deep in thought. If he became less human the more he drank, how long would it be before he reverted back to his old self? Fury narrowed his eye, seemingly thinking the same thing. 

“Well that answers some questions,” he huffed. “But opens up several more. How did he remember Carter after all these years? Do you think it might’ve been because of his sketchbook? Good idea, leaving that with him, by the way. We can monitor what he writes in there while he undergoes testing.” 

Natasha puffed up a little at Fury’s compliment, pleased she could be of help. 

“I want you running point with this, Romanoff. Keep pushing him. Interact with him, report back on his status.”

Natasha faltered a little, a small frown forming. After everything she had just done, everything that she had learned about him, and worse still, herself, she didn’t want to see Steve again. It didn’t go unnoticed and Fury coolly watched her for her response. “With respect Fury, I feel I could be doing more elsewhere— Not being Steve’s keeper. You trained me to be a hunter, and that’s what I want to do.” 

Fury snorted a little, looking her up and down. Seeing how serious she was, he rubbed at his chin and looked away, deep in thought. “Fine, Romanoff. I’ll put you to work,” he began. “But if I ask you to go and see him every now and then, I expect you to go.” 

She nodded tersely and shot him a grateful look. “Thank you, sir.” 

Natasha was grateful to return to fieldwork. She was sent on recon missions to scout horde activity in surrounding areas. It would mean that she would be away for nearly a week. This was no hardship for her, she often liked going on these partner missions with Sam or Clint. After Clint’s apology, it was much easier to work with him again. They joked and laughed as they had always done, and Natasha was relieved to have him back in her corner. 

News circulated through the base that Steve started drinking blood again. Natasha wasn’t in on the gossip anymore. She was just glad that it was finally no longer about her. But Clint thought she might want to know about it. It was her who finally got him to talk, after all, and that had helped her regain some of her status among her peers. She and Clint were days away from the base, scouting activity and potential threats to the security of the survivor colony on the coast. Their base was in former France. Not that it really mattered, now that Europe was divided between Shield protected strongholds and Hydra controlled dead zones, but it helped when they had to refer to maps from the time before all of this. Clint strode next to her, discussing her breakthrough with Steve. She stayed mostly tight lipped about what she had done, she couldn’t be proud of it, but it helped that other hunters were finally recognizing her success. In time, maybe she could feel the same way. 

“Who knows how long he would’ve lasted if you hadn’t broken him?” Clint mused, “he seems like he has better control over his thirst— well better control than the horde anyway.” 

Natasha just nodded blankly. It didn’t matter what Steve did. He was no longer her concern. Clint rubbed his chin thoughtfully before he nudged her with a sly grin, “I guess they finally found his type.”

Natasha flushed, whirling on him, worried about what he was implying. Did he know about this attachment she had with Steve? Was he going to give her a hard time over that too? But Clint just smiled a little wider, “His  _ blood _ type.” 

Natasha rolled her eyes so hard she thought they might pop out of her head. At least then she wouldn’t have to see Clint’s stupid shit-eating grin. 

“Get it?” he prompted when she didn’t laugh. 

“For fuck’s sake, Clint.”

“Aw come on, that was pretty good.” He pouted.

They were lucky today. The sun was out, shining high above them as they trekked the old roads along the seaside. Natasha loved the smell of the ocean, the cool sting of salty air on her cheeks. She had been landlocked where she had lived as a child, so the coastline missions always made her happy. Clint's stupid jokes aside, she was glad to be out here. They entered the outskirts of the long-abandoned village. It sat about eight kilometers east of the survivor colony and they checked it for signs of infected creatures. 

Horde activity in the area had increased recently as they followed where people congregated. They went where the food did. As Natasha and Clint scouted the deserted ruin, they uncovered a nest in an abandoned building housing dozens of infected waiting dormant for the sun to go down. They horde stood, trance-like and unresponsive in the darkness of the old building.  Standing outside the old leaning structure, Natasha undid her pack and withdrew her incendiary kit items. Clint checked the doors, making sure they were barricaded. They chatted while they did, Natasha catching him up on everything that had happened during the course of her interrogation with Steve. Mostly everything…

“No shit—“ Clint said, testing the doors of the old building, “Rumlow said that?” 

Natasha smirked and stuffed another rag into the bottle of high proof alcohol. “Yeah, like I’d seduced Steve or something. Ensnared him in my web with my feminine wiles,” she said, wiggling her fingers at him. 

Clint laughed at that and she handed him two bottles. “He’s such an asshole,” he said, as he withdrew his lighter and lit the rag. 

Natasha snorted and lit her own Molotov cocktail. “Yep.” 

They threw the incendiaries in through the old yellowing glass windows. It shattered and flames erupted in the building, followed closely by the shriek of the infected. While they were tough to kill, incinerating them was an effective way of killing them if they burned long enough. Circling around the other sides, Clint and Natasha flung in another incendiary each, covering all the exits of the building. They then regrouped at the entrance, withdrawing their weapons in case any infected managed to escape the blaze. 

Natasha could hear them struggle, shrieking and clawing as they searched for an escape. Unease washed over her. Maybe they could’ve cured them one day. That had never been a possibility before, but it ate at her now. The first infected broke free, escaping the fire, only to burn in the sun instead. Clint separated from Natasha to get a clearer shot, putting it down with an arrow through its heart. 

It wasn’t her job to question the morality of this. She had to keep survivors safe. The infected wouldn’t give their victims a second thought as they tore into them, eviscerating and savaging and destroying until there was nothing left. 

A second infected escaped the structure, crawling from the barricades window and charging at Natasha. It didn’t feel the fire that consumed it, blackened its skin. It charged Natasha with a ravenous, maddened wail. She had been caught off guard, watching Clint. A mistake like that could end her. Natasha barely caught it with her axe as it charged her, slicing deep into its abdomen as it leapt at her. Natasha twisted in disgust when it leaned forward, snapping and snarling, guts spilling from its wound in a cool, soggy mess. She tried to avoid the flames that consumed it, feeling the thick, protective material of her uniform start to smoulder. 

Natasha cried out and forced her hand under the thing’s jaw, thrusting its face away from her. It stopped abruptly when an arrow pierced it through its back, spraying arterial blood over Natasha’s face. She scrambled and shoved the thing from her. Clint rushed to her, inspecting her, brows knit with worried. 

Natasha spit and furiously wiped at the infected blood on her face, panting heavily. 

Horrified, they locked eyes. “Did you get any in your mouth, Tasha?” She watched him, panic welling in her. 

“I don’t know,” she said quietly. 

Clint’s face hardened, watching her with a deep look of concern. Natasha inhaled shakily, wiping her face again. Bites from the infected didn’t turn people, but their blood did. Clint sat next to her as she shook. She could see the ocean from here, sun glittering on the water. The sea breeze whipped her hair around her face and Natasha sniffed and rubbed her nose. 

“I guess we’ll find out shortly,” she said with a dry smile. 

Clint returned her smile with a humourless one of his own. “You’re gonna be fine, Nat.” 

Maybe that was true.

“You know what to do if I’m not, Clint,” she said quietly. 

He nodded solemnly as he stared at his feet. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d had to end his partner before they became one of the horde. When she ran her very first field mission with Clint, he told her exactly what he had done for other hunters, what he himself wanted should he become infected. Natasha wouldn’t want anything different either.

They sat in tense silence for half and hour, the structure burning behind them. No other horde had escaped and the burning house had long gone quiet. Nothing happened. If Natasha was infected, she would’ve known by now. She glanced at Clint in relief and he smiled broadly at her. He punched her arm lightly. “Don’t scare me like that,” he said. 

Natasha chuckled and stood. “Let’s go,” she said. They made their way to the colony for the night. It was a welcome reprieve and Natasha celebrated hard. 

* * *

When they returned to base from their mission, Fury was waiting for Natasha with another assignment. He held out Steve’s sketchbook, looking at her with a deadpan expression. “Sketchbook duty,” he announced. Natasha frowned; she had been so glad to be finished with Steve. She hadn’t thought of him at all on her missions, but staring at his sketchbook in Fury’s hand brought back a swirl of emotion she thought she had put past her. Anxiety welled in her. What if he asked her to see him again? 

Sensing her unease, Fury leaned forward, shaking the sketchbook a little. “Romanoff, all hunters involved with the asset have a turn doing it. Go through his sketchbook and write out a report of everything he drew or wrote for the week. You don’t actually have to talk to him, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Natasha exhaled sharply and took the book hesitantly. Fury folded his hands and continued, “Then, I need you to head to med bay for a check up and to make a donation to our blood stores.” 

Natasha’s brow furrowed on the last request, and Fury shrugged. 

“We used up a lot of our supplies after the last horde attack,” he said. “That, and the asset has gone through quite a few of our stores.” 

Natasha took the sketchbook from Fury’s outstretched hand. “Of course,” she said, and headed back to her room to get cleaned up. 

After a shower and cleaning her gear, Natasha finally glanced at the book sitting on her desk. She hadn’t thought of Steve in a while, and she was grateful for it. But she was worried that Fury might try and rope her into interacting with Steve again. Did he want her to try and provide more insights into him? The thought sent a rush of goosebumps down her arms. Would Steve even be the same as when she had left him? 

With a sigh, Natasha cracked open the book, flipped through the pages, and began skimming over his notes of what happened in the past weeks. Different hunters were rendered in charcoal. She recognized Clint and Rumlow among the sketches. Rumlow’s eyes were stricken through. In near incomprehensible scrawl he left notes describing things.  _ They burn so hot, _ he had written,  _ I can’t stand their touch.  _ She paused upon reading this. Remembering the warmth leaching from her when she touched him, she wondered if this was how it felt when a regular human touched him. 

Natasha noted a few other drawings of his cell, a drawing of Carter as an older woman, the details were off, like he couldn’t clearly remember her face and was using the previous sketch as a reference. She also had no eyes, and a smudge erasing whatever note he has written next to it. Near the end of the book, she noticed a page torn out. In previous entries, other hunters had noted that there was a missing page, but no one had reported finding it. It didn’t seem important enough to try and recover, especially since Steve’s drawings and notes were mostly crazed ramblings. Frowning, Natasha shook the book, hoping something might fall out. Nothing. She opened it to the front flap, and then the back, before spreading the book open wide. In doing so, the spine separated from the cover, revealing something folded and wedged deep into the curve of the spine. She withdrew it, pleased with herself, and unfolded it carefully. 

It was a sketch of her. 

Her breath caught in her throat. It made sense, she supposed. Why wouldn’t he draw her? He drew everyone else. She ignored the thrum of her heart against her ribs. He must have done it from memory. From the background, she recognized it as her sitting by his cell when she told him the story of Maria Morevna and Koschei the Deathless. He had rendered her in profile, her expression soft. He captured her likeness well, though she thought he made her prettier than she was. It seemed like he spent a great deal of time on this. 

She imagined Steve’s brow furrowed in concentration, fingers sweeping at the shadows to smudge them just so. Had he done this to remember her? Under the sketch was her name, scrawled messily, next to the note:  _ don’t hurt her, please.  _

Natasha faltered, quickly folding the note back up and stuffing it into her pocket. She felt the colour rise in her traitorous cheeks and quickly closed the sketchbook. No one else needed to know about this. No one needed to see that he… Natasha shook herself and threw on her jacket, determined to head to the lab for Fury’s second part of her assignment. She felt flustered, walking through the halls convinced that everyone was in on Steve’s note about her. Why didn’t he want to hurt her? Did he actually… care? 

Without knowing it, she had wandered into the lab wing. Med bay was close, but she couldn’t help but wonder… Steve would be undergoing testing now. She had never seen what this entailed. She sighed and felt at the drawing in her pocket. Maybe this would help, she rationalized, maybe she needed to start seeing him as the ‘asset’, not Steve. Determined, she entered the lab wing and saw testing room two was lit up. She slid into the observation area quietly. 

When she entered they were in the midst of a procedure. Steve sat, bound by thick metal restraints, on the table staring at the floor. A lab tech, dressed in her white coat and PPE, had her back to him while Rumlow kept watch with an interested smirk. He held something in his hand, but Natasha’s view was blocked by the table. The lab tech turned and approached Steve cautiously. He didn’t move as she stuck him with a syringe and withdrew blood. He sat completely motionless as she worked, eventually withdrawing the needle from him. Steve looked different than she remembered, somehow. More subdued, like he was used to being here. His eyes were filled with hatred. The lab tech set the syringe down behind her and withdrew a bagged pint of blood from the cooling unit. She tossed it into Steve’s lap then leaned in close and whispered something to him. Steve eyed her, then smirked. Natasha couldn't hear the reply, but the look on the tech's face told Natasha it wasn't friendly. 

The tech nodded at Rumlow, who stepped forward swiftly and shocked Steve with a cattle prod. It must’ve been a high voltage because Steve convulsed, muscles going rigid, face twisting in pain. The blood bag fell to the floor and burst open, spilling crimson across the tile. Steve fell back on the table, shaking and looking dazed. Rumlow turned to the tech questioningly. She nodded and Rumlow shocked him again. 

Natasha watched, a knot forming in her stomach. He was the asset, she told herself. He was the asset... Rumlow grabbed Steve by the shirt and dragged him off the table. Dazed, he fell painfully to the floor. With a wicked smile, Rumlow forced Steve’s face into the blood, staining his hair, his shirt, his cheek and temple with red. Steve regained some of his awareness, face awash with murderous hatred as Rumlow held him there. The lab tech laughed at something Rumlow said.  _ Don’t you want it?  _ Natasha saw her ask. When Steve squirmed, resisting, Rumlow grinned and released him. Before Steve could move, he was shocked again, and slumped limp and shaking in the blood on the floor. 

The lab tech snapped something at Rumlow, withdrawing a wicked looking needle from the tray. Bending to Steve’s level, she roughly brushed his shaggy hair from his neck. With an annoyed look, she positioned the needle several times against his spine before turning to Rumlow and giving him an order. He smiled then turned and grabbed a pair of scissors from behind him and handed them to her. The woman grabbed a fistful of Steve's hair, jerking his head back as she did. He was forced into an upright position by his hair and the lab tech brought the scissors up and cut away uneven clumps of his sandy locks as she held it in her fist. 

Steve seemed to recover a bit, eyes becoming hard and focused. His gaze flitted to the two-way glass. Natasha felt like he could see straight through her. But there was no way he could know she was there. He watched his reflection suffer through this humiliation like a spectator, growing increasingly agitated as he did. Natasha shifted, breath catching in her throat. The woman released him with a shove, and Steve stayed focused in front of him. Rumlow followed his gaze, smiling wickedly as he leaned in close to Steve. With an air of amusement, Rumlow withdrew his knife from its holster and traced the veins on Steve’s face.  _ What are you looking at?  _ Natasha saw him say. Steve stayed quiet, his gaze unwavering. His silence didn't go over well, he wasn't playing Rumlow's game. Steve seemed to steel himself, preparing for retaliation like he was trained to expect this. Like he had done this before… No matter how much she wanted to, Natasha couldn’t look away from him. Rumlow jerked Steve forward and sank his knife into his eye. 

Natasha's blood ran cold as she watched Steve scream silently, writhing in his restraints as Rumlow held him close. She could see him twist the blade a little and felt like the breath had been knocked from her. Rumlow murmured something in Steve's ear, holding him by the hair. He released him and Steve leaned forward to rest his head on his knees, dark blood blooming on his pants. Rumlow smirked at the lab tech, who returned his smile and prepared the needle. 

As if in a dream, Natasha could feel herself move to the door. She threw it open, taking in the shocked faces of Rumlow and the other woman. 

"Romanoff," the lab tech broke the silence first. Her eyes were wide like a child caught misbehaving. "We were just…" 

Natasha felt herself stride into the room, not really sure what she was doing. Rumlow stepped in front of her. 

"You should go, Nat," he warned. 

"Like  _ hell,"  _ she spat, voice shaking with rage. 

A small smile grew on Rumlow's face. "Don't make me—“

Natasha cut him short with a swift jab to his nose. She felt the bridge give way under her knuckles with a satisfying crack. He cried out, hand flying up to stem the gush of blood. Natasha moved in close while he was caught off guard. Her knife was in her hand before she even consciously realized it was there. She held the point against his cheek and Rumlow eyed her hatefully, gaze flitting to the point just under his eye. 

“Bitch,” he spat. The hard consonants flecked blood onto her face. 

“Rumlow, you have 5 seconds to get the  _ fuck  _ out of my sight,” she breathed. 

He smiled at her, teeth red with blood before he spat on the floor at her feet. “Have fun with your little pet,” he said, pushing past her. He strode from the room, leaving Natasha with Steve and the lab tech. 

The lab tech watched Rumlow’s retreating form before turning to Natasha shakily. 

“He deserves everything he got,” she said, tilting her chin indignantly. “He killed Sarah. She died saving  _ you,”  _ she hissed, pointing accusingly at Natasha “She should’ve let him kill you.” 

Natasha pointed her blade at the woman, watching fear flicker across her face. “What you did here, you’re no better than Hydra,” Natasha spat. “We’re supposed to find a cure; we’re supposed to save people.”

The tech’s eyes teared, her lip trembled. “He’s not a  _ person _ ,” she breathed. “Why do I have to explain this to you? You’re a hunter.” 

Natasha glared, incensed by the woman’s comment. She knew she shouldn’t intervene in testing, but she was wrong about Steve. He wasn’t human, but he was more than an infected.

“So, what, you think you get to torture him? We’ve all lost people, it doesn’t mean you get to be a sadistic fuck.” 

The woman inhaled sharply, standing a little straighter, trying to regain a measure of control. 

“Why don’t you join them, if you love them so much? Maybe we were all right about you. You admire them, you want to be like them. You’d do  _ anything.  _ Do you think Cap here will turn you, if you beg? If you were his little—” 

Natasha slapped her sharply, the sound deafening in the silence of the lab. Before the woman could recover, Natasha grabbed her and hauled her in close. “Leave,” she hissed, “before I shove this knife so far up your ass, you taste it.” 

The woman cowered, eyes welling with tears. Natasha released her and she scurried from the room, holding her face. 

Natasha watched her retreat, door clicking shut behind her. She breathed for a moment, trying to push down her rage. When she heard Steve shift behind her, she turned to face him. He was sitting upright now, staring dully at his reflection in the two-way glass. He was covered in blood, white shirt and pants stained crimson. His eye was a bloody mess and his hair was choppy and uneven, sticking up wildly. 

Turning from him, Natasha went to the sink and turned on the tap. Withdrawing a towel from the drawer, she wet it and gingerly went to him, sliding her knife back into its sheath. Steve didn’t look at her, even as she stood in front of him. Slowly she knelt and began to clean the blood from his hands, his neck, his face. How long had this been going on? Natasha connected the dots of Fury sending her away on missions during Steve’s tests. A wave of shame washed over her. How could she have missed this? 

His eye still bled, streaking rivulets of dark red down his face. Gently she reached out, fingers hovering by his cheek. When he didn’t react, Natasha carefully tilted Steve’s face toward her to get a better look at his eye. He sat motionless under her touch, letting her move him whatever way she liked. The wound still looked raw, oozing blood and vitreous fluid, though the bleeding seemed to be slowing already. Natasha breathed, searching him for a response, reaction, anything, but he was blank, numb. She gently swiped at the blood on his face with her palm before pulling away. Why hadn’t she seen this sooner? Maybe she hadn’t wanted to. 

Natasha swallowed and turned her focus back to him. “Can you stand?” She asked softly, like she was speaking to a child. Steve didn’t answer. Gripping him gently, she pulled him to stand. He was still shaky from Rumlow’s assault, and they collapsed to the floor, his head resting on her shoulder as she held him awkwardly. Natasha waited for him to regain some of his strength, carefully holding his arms to try and help him stand. Eventually, Steve allowed her to move him and slowly sat back on the table. When she was certain he was stable, she released him and wandered over to the scissors lying on the table, Steve’s golden hairs still stuck to the blade. 

She picked them up gently, looking back at Steve. He was turned to face her now, eyeing the scissors warily. He seemed uncertain what she would do with them. That he thought she would hurt him sent a wave of shame through Natasha. She wouldn’t do that. The revelation shocked her, but deep down she had known it for a while. She had tried so hard to push him away, to distance herself from him. While she was afraid of this closeness with him, she knew now that she wouldn’t hurt him, and that scared her too. Natasha carried the scissors over to where Steve sat, keeping them in his line of sight. 

“Can I even out your hair?” she asked softly. 

He didn’t reply, eyes cold and fixed on the floor. Natasha moved behind him and very hesitantly ran her fingers through his hair, pulling at any uneven strands. He breathed, and his brow furrowed in uncertainty. Natasha smoothed his hair, wanting him to know she wouldn’t hurt him, slowly coaxing him to relax a little. When Steve leaned slightly into her touch, she took that as a sign of his approval. Cautiously, Natasha took the scissors and began to cut away his hair, feeling it fall past her hands like feathers to the floor. She wasn’t the most skilled hairdresser, but she cut her own hair from time to time. Every now and then even Clint and Sam allowed her to give them a trim. They were both silent as she worked. 

“Did you know?” Steve asked, after a long pause. 

Focused intently on her work, Natasha was startled by his voice. She paused, fingers in his hair, scissors close to his ear, and pursed her lips. “I didn’t know, Steve,” she said quietly.

He breathed deeply, glancing over his shoulder with his good eye. “You didn’t know, or you didn’t want to know?” he asked sharply. 

Natasha withdrew her hands from him, placing the scissors down. “Maybe a bit of both,” she said. 

He laughed softly, humourlessly, and swiped his face against his shoulder to try and wipe away the blood. Natasha fingered the scissors. There was nothing she could say that would make this right. No magic words to erase his suffering. She felt just as culpable as Rumlow. Natasha picked up the scissors and moved around the table to face him. "Let me even out the front," she said. 

Warily, Steve watched her. His injured eye was healed enough that he could open it a little. His white iris was tinted red. Blood smeared his cheek. Natasha reached out and hesitantly combed his hair back with her fingers, accidentally sweeping her thumb across his forehead. His eyes fluttered slightly at her touch. For a moment he relaxed before he seemed to catch himself and his face darkened, eyes becoming hard again. 

Natasha worked methodically, wanting to get this right. She could feel his gaze drill into her, but she stayed focused on her task. Finally, she stepped back and placed her fingers under his chin to tilt his head from side to side. She smiled warmly, pleased with the result. He cleaned up nicely, she mused. But Steve’s eyes flickered, lips parted slightly as he watched her face. An invasive observation unfolded in her mind at his reaction. Had he ever seen her smile before? Feeling a little self-conscious, Natasha faltered. 

Steve inhaled sharply, face forming a stony mask as he pulled away from her touch. “Natasha— if this isn’t real. If this is just another tactic to get me to talk, to learn more about me…” he fell silent. It shouldn’t hurt to hear him say that, but it did. His words were a shock of shame through her. She was just doing her job before. Following orders. But she shouldn’t even be down here now. She didn’t know what possessed her to intervene. A part of her believed he didn’t deserve this treatment. Steve was trying, figuring out where he stood in all this. He was trying for the first time in seventy-five years to sort out what parts of him were true and what parts of him were corrupted by the infection. 

“I know you have no reason to believe me,” she said softly, meeting his gaze, “but I’m not doing this for them, Steve.” 

He paused, seeming to accept her response, though he was still guarded. “Why are you here?” he said quietly, an edge of desperate confusion in his voice, “Why do you do this?”

Natasha frowned, unsure of what he meant. 

“Why do you treat me like I’m—  _ human _ ?” he looked at her quizzically. Natasha looked down at the scissors in her hands thoughtfully, before placing them on the counter. He tracked her movements, waiting for her response. He looked like he might fall apart. She studied his response, fingering the drawing in her pocket. 

“I don’t really know,” she finally replied. “I think it’s because I can see the humanity in you,” she confessed. “You care about people, Steve.” Natasha reached into her pocket and thumbed the corner of the drawing, remembering the note he made about her, the drawings he did of other Shield hunters, Carter, his cell. Maybe Clint was right, maybe she was naive. Was it wrong to hope? Was it wrong to recognize kindness in Steve? 

“No,” his voice cut through her reverie, snapping her attention to him. He leaned forward slightly, staring at her intently. “Not  _ people _ , Natasha.” Natasha felt a chill run through her. The implication of his words hung between them. Her eyes narrowed and she quickly withdrew her hand from her pocket. Her eyes flitted to the floor, she opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off. 

“The blood they offer me, it’s yours,” he said, staring at the smear of crimson spreading across the floor, “it wasn’t at first, but after your last visit, it’s all they’ve been giving me.”

Natasha went cold. This felt like a violation. Fury led her to believe a random selection of donated blood would be provided. How much had they given him while she was away? No wonder Fury had asked her to donate more. She understood why Shield might use her, but she felt betrayed. A rush of heat raced up the nape of her neck and into her cheeks. Why was she always two moves behind? She glanced at Steve through her lashes. 

“Why does that work on you?” her voice sounded small in the space of the lab. 

Steve swiped his eye again his shoulder again and studied her with a tense expression. “It’s hard to describe,” he said bluntly, “But your blood— the scent, the way it tastes— It’s exquisite.”

Natasha swallowed hard. She had no idea she had had this effect on him. It was troubling to think about. Was that the reason he seemed so attached to her then? She had an interesting smell? In a way it was a relief, but she thumbed the edge of the sketch in her pocket. It was more than just that and she knew it. 

“I knew that I was just a tool to further the mission,” she said quietly. “It’s why I was sent to see you in the first place. But what I don’t understand is, why me? What is it about me that gets under your skin?” 

He leaned back, watching her coolly. His hair framed his handsome face, allowing her to see his jaw clench. She got the sense that she may regret asking. 

“It’s not just your scent,” he breathed, fixing his gaze on her fidgeting hands. “It’s the way the air changes when you enter the room.”

She swallowed, uncomfortable with his unflinching confession. She felt the colour in her face deepen. Her mouth became a hard line. 

“But more than that, you won’t break, you won’t let yourself show your cracks. You are so weak, like all of your kind, like a dim light flickering in the dark. You’ve already lost, but you still fight,” he continued, words spilling from him. He had clearly mulled this over before. 

“When I first met you, you were so like the other hunters, I wanted to kill you. To snuff you out like the others before. But when I see you, I see the anger, the hatred that fuels you. I see the devotion you have for others, the sympathy, the compassion you have. You burn so brightly.”

Natasha swallowed. No one had spoken to her like this before. Steve leaned in closer, meeting her eyes intently. She felt magnetized, unable to look away. 

“But I’m selfish, Natasha. I see you, and I want you to myself,” he murmured. 

Natasha shifted from foot to foot, brushing the strands of hair out of her face, her heart pounding in her ears. Unsure of how to respond, she fell into silence. Steve searched her face, looking for a response. 

The door suddenly burst open behind them, startling Natasha. Steve leaned back, appraising the interrupters icily. Clint stormed into the room, glancing between Natasha and Steve with an imperceptible look. Fury strode in coolly behind him. Natasha turned to face him, clasping her hands behind her, grateful for the distraction. There was a beat of heavy silence. She felt all eyes in the room on her and endeavored to remain impassive. 

"What in the hell do you think you're doing, Romanoff?" Fury began, tone scolding. 

Natasha stood a little taller. "Sir?" 

Fury rolled his good eye. "Don't play dumb. Do I need to remind you of the poor woman you threatened? Rumlow's broken nose? He left a damn blood trail all over my base." 

Natasha couldn't hide her smirk. She caught Clint hiding a wry smile of his own. Their eyes met briefly.  _ Fuck that guy,  _ she could see it written on his face.

She smiled wider. Fury squinted and cocked his head. Natasha cleared her throat and composed herself. "No, Sir," she answered. 

"Then why in the hell are you going around attacking my people?" 

Natasha pursed her lips. "With respect sir, I thought we were researching a cure, not condoning the torture of our assets." 

Fury paused, glancing at Steve. "Natasha," he began, "we've never had the opportunity to study an Old One before this. Some tests may include researching the asset's other capabilities. Pain tolerance and healing ability, for example." 

Natasha seethed, stealing a shocked look at Steve. He smiled dryly. She supposed he had known this for a while. She turned her gaze to Clint. His face was set in a hard line. He looked away from her. She breathed, feeling her stomach flip. He already knew. Had he overseen some of these sessions? 

"Why am I just finding out about this?" she said, voice low with outrage. 

Fury sighed. "To put it bluntly, Romanoff? You've been compromised. You refuse to see this pragmatically." 

A wave of anger swelled in Natasha. "And if we find a cure, if we fix Steve? What then? He's just supposed to accept the means we went to to get it?" 

"Yes," Fury said bluntly. "Cap was the best of us. I'm sure he'd understand." Fury turned to Steve, appraising him calculatingly. Steve bared his teeth. "Failing that, we suspect he simply won't remember. Our working theory is that if an infected forgets their human life the more it feeds, then the cure might reverse that. The cure might erase all memory of being infected." 

Natasha's brows knit in anger. "You couldn't explain that to me? You thought I should just be kept in the dark about all of this?" 

Fury looked her up and down, considering what she said. Very calmly, he withdrew a blade from his belt and held it carefully. "Maybe I should have," he said, studying the sharp edge, "Maybe I misjudged you." 

He flipped the knife in his hand, offering her the handle. "Romanoff, take this blade and slit the asset's throat."

Exhaling slowly, Natasha glared at Fury, feeling like she'd been sucker punched. Fury silently watched her, still holding out the knife. But she couldn’t take it, she couldn’t do it. After a moment, Fury withdrew it and put it back in its sheath. 

"That's what I thought," he said. He paced over to the two way glass, brow furrowed in contemplation. "Romanoff, I'm reassigning you," he said quietly.

Natasha shifted in place. "To do what, sir?" 

He looked over at Steve watching him from his seat on the table. "We received a communication from our contacts in Belgium. There was a horde attack on the base. They received heavy losses and are in need of hunters to assist with rebuild and scouting. I've already got a team together." 

Natasha clenched her jaw, waiting for the ball to drop.

"You're going with them, Natasha."

She looked down at her feet, feeling ashamed. She nodded. Behind her, Steve jumped off the table, face set in a snarl. There was a flurry of movement, Clint drew his bow, pointing an arrow at Steve's heart, Natasha whirled to face him. Fury didn't flinch, watching Steve with an unamused look. 

"I'm making this clear for you too, Rogers," he said. "Whatever you think your relationship is with my hunter, it ends today. She is leaving; you are staying here." 

Steve sneered at him, hate in his eyes. "I came because she asked me to. I was polite because she asked me to be. When she goes, I'm not going to play so nicely," he snarled, restraints straining against his wrists. Fury eyed him suspiciously, before turning back to Natasha.

“Barton will take the asset back to his holding cell. You are leaving first thing tomorrow morning,” he said flatly. “A full mission briefing will be waiting for you in your room.”

“Yes sir,” she said softly.

Fury sighed and rubbed his neck. He gave her one last look before turning and striding from the room. Natasha stood in silence with the Steve and Clint, feeling the weight of their collective gaze settle on her. Was Fury right? Was she looking at this the wrong way? With a shaky breath she put on a mask of indifference and moved to push past them.

“Tasha—” Clint stepped toward her, a concerned look on his face. She tried to shove him away before she was startled by Steve punching a large dent in the wall, face contorted in rage. Clint immediately nocked an arrow and aimed it straight at him, drawing Steve’s attention to him.

“Give me a reason to end you,” he said dangerously.

Steve snarled at him, pulling his fist from the wall. The restraints that bound him had been snapped. Natasha stepped in between them hastily, trying to keep them apart.

“Natasha, move,” Clint snapped. Steve paced forward, seeming to goad him on with a smile. 

Natasha sighed sharply. “Just.  _ Stop, _ ” she hissed. “Both of you. Stop it.”

Clint shot her an angry look and tightened his grip on his bow. “Tasha, he’s manipulating you,” he said. “Why do you let him do this to you?”

Natasha looked at him sadly. “You think I don’t know that?” she said softly. “Steve, Shield, it doesn’t seem to matter. I’m everyone’s toy at this point.”

Clint lowered his bow slightly. “Tasha, you know Shield is doing what’s best,” he said.

Feeling her face harden, Natasha levelled her gaze on Clint. “Using me as Steve’s personal blood bank? Torturing Steve? That’s for the best?” Clint’s face paled. “Clint did you know what they were doing here?”

Clint looked back to Steve. “I heard that some of the lab techs needed to vent a little, I didn’t know what that might entail,” he said quietly. “But Natasha, I swear I didn’t know they were using you like that. I didn’t know they were offering you up like some kind of— snack.”

Natasha frowned, looking away from him. During their brief pause, Steve moved in, face twisted with hatred. He swiftly grabbed the arrow from Clint’s bow and snapped at him like a feral animal. Clint drew his blade, ready to strike. With a cry, Natasha pushed to separate the two again as they struggled on either side of her. She shoved Clint, sending him reeling and whirled to face Steve. He tried to move past her, to get to Clint, but Natasha placed her palm firmly against Steve’s chest. He stopped, gaze flitting down to her hand.

“Stop,” she breathed, feeling his heartbeat beneath her fingers. Her gaze flickered to his, face softening when she saw his angry expression. “Please…” She felt Steve relax slightly under her touch. Clint recovered, watching in disbelief as Natasha held Steve in place. She turned to face him.

“Can you give us a minute?” she said quietly. Clint’s face was set in a hard line, clearly suspicious of Steve. He looked like he wanted to say something, face a stormy mix of anger and disdain.

“Clint,” Natasha said. “Trust me.”

He searched her carefully for a beat before cursing and turning away. “I’ll be just outside,” he said sharply.

Alone again with Steve, Natasha didn’t know what to say. She turned to face him but found herself unable to meet his gaze. His last words to her echoed through her, making her blood run cold.  _ I want you to myself.  _ Steve slid his fingers up to cover hers, snapping her attention to him.

“Don’t leave,” he said quietly.

Filled with uncertainty, she slid her hand away. She didn’t want to look at him, though she could imagine his expression as he watched her. 

“I’m…” she paused, drawing in a shaky breath, “I think it would be best if I left,” she said. He drew away from her a step. Her hands curled into fists as she stared at the floor. 

“So you’d leave me here, you’d allow this to continue?” He paced in front of her, his hands tense with anger.

“No,” she said softly. “No, you know I don’t want that for you.” 

He whirled to face her, looming close. “Then what do you want? Why are you so willing to do what these people ask of you?” 

Natasha tore her gaze from the floor to look at him. His face was tight with anger, still bloodied from his injury which was now completely healed. “Because this isn’t about me. I’m trying to do what’s best for humanity!” she cried in frustration. Steve was unmoved. He didn’t care about that in the slightest. Looking at him now, Natasha realized that he had never understood why she wanted to save her kind. But she had to. She had to try.

“I want— I’m trying to save you, Steve. I’m trying to help,” she said weakly. 

Steve snorted, a cruel little half smile pulled at his lips. “Save me? You’re asking me to die,” he said. “You heard what your director said. I’ll forget everything. If you get your precious cure, what then? You’ll fix me? I’ll forget all of this? The man you’re holding out for, I don’t know him.” He leaned in close and took her hand gently. His skin was cool in hers, but she didn’t pull away. “This is me, Natasha. This is all I’ve ever known. I don’t want a cure to change that. To have a stranger take my place.”

Natasha faltered a little. She hadn’t thought about how he must feel about this. What must it feel like to hear people speak of Steve Rogers, Captain America when they looked at him? To feel the shadow of who he used to be loom so large over him? 

“Then why did you stay?” she said, glancing at the remains of the restraints around his wrists. “You clearly could’ve left whenever you wanted. Why stay?” 

He backed off a little, face clouding over in contemplation. “When they began their…  _ tests _ ,” he began, “they told me you knew about it. I thought maybe I was wrong about you, maybe you were just like the rest of your kind.” He paused, gauging her reaction. Natasha felt colour creep into her cheeks. “But you kept coming back. You kept treating me like… I mattered. I didn’t want to believe they were right about you, but you disappeared and I started to believe…” 

Steve paused and licked his lips a little, studying her intently. 

I stayed because I wanted you to prove me wrong,” he said quietly

Natasha looked away, not wanting him to study her any further. She was quiet for a while, trying to formulate a response, hating that he always put her on edge like this. “That’s why I think I should leave,” she finally said. “Everything you’ve done… everything you are. I should despise you. I should be okay with the way they treat you. But… Whatever this is with you… it  _ scares _ me” 

Steve scoffed, releasing her hand to pace in front of her. “Because I’m a monster?” he said, a dangerous edge to his voice. He caught sight of himself in the two-way glass and smiled. “Would you rather I was  _ him _ ? The man I was before?” he asked softly. 

“Because I don’t know what  _ this  _ is,” she breathed, bringing her gaze to meet his cool expression. “I don’t know what I want, or even how I feel about you.” His eyes softened a little at her words. 

“I think I just… I want time,” she said, watching him. 

He considered her quietly, face an impassive mask. He was pallid in the harsh fluorescent lights of the lab, glinting eyes set in his handsome face. Time, she supposed, was something he was deeply familiar with. In this moment, he seemed to her like a shade, something ancient, dangerous and ethereal. Where could she go where he couldn’t haunt her anymore?

“When you leave, I’ll have no reason to stay,” he said. 

Natasha paused, trying to erase the pleading expression from her face. She nodded, knowing he would be gone when she returned. “I know I can’t stop you, or make you stay,” she said, pulling a set of restraints from the belt around her waist and striding to him. Grasping at the metal bands around his wrists, Steve tore them off with a swift tug and offered his hands to her. Swallowing her unease with his casual display of power, Natasha gently fastened the new restraints around his wrists, and slid her hands to cover his. His skin was cold beneath hers. He looked at her quizzically, eyes flitting from her hands to her face. “I wish you could understand why the cure is so important,” she said, “but please, if you leave, please don’t kill anyone.” His expression softened. 

Taking that as his assent, Natasha let go of his hands and she took him by the arm. “Let’s get you back to your cell,” she said. Steve let her lead him from the room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a doubly long chapter! I couldn't find a nice place to split it, so I just combined it into one long beefy read. Enjoy and Happy New Year! 
> 
> Next chapter will be up this Thursday or Friday.


	12. By the Pricking of my Thumbs

When Shield formed, the world had been at war. Sometimes stories would be passed down of veteran hunters, former soldiers in the fight So many of them were gone now and the memory of the world before Hydra, before all of this, went with them. But some of these things remained, buildings, monuments, destroyed cities… Using these structures, Shield set up bases across Europe where a group called the Allies were once stationed. It was hard to imagine the world before, but she sometimes saw glimpses of it. Natasha and her team were holed up in a safehouse, and in the distance she could see two towering spires pushing up from the earth. They had fallen into disrepair now, but their impressive size remained. She had seen them on this route before. Clint had told her that they were a memorial for a long forgotten conflict. “The Great War” he had called it. Shield sometimes still used the constructs for their own purposes. She wondered if there was ever a time without the chaos and fighting. It seemed like every generation was touched by it. Natasha looked away, flipping the knife in her hand nonchalantly. 

They were still about a day’s hike from the Shield base in Belgium and nightfall was a few hours away. It had been a tough and tense hike in using the safehouse network that Shield had painstakingly set up over the past seventy-five years. It was a collection of old military buildings— bunkers, machine gun nests and the like— as well as converted farmhouses, cabins, and civilian homes if they were deemed safe enough. Natasha sheathed her blade and unfolded her safehouse map again, tracing the route they had taken with a sigh. To her right, Clint watched her, inspecting the fletching on his arrows.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked finally. 

Natasha folded her map again and returned it to her travel pack. “Nothing really, just— it’s always been like this hasn’t it? War, chaos, fighting. Even in the time before.”

A half smile cracked Clint’s face. “Sorry I asked,” he said. 

Clint was a simple man— he didn’t like to give his attention to things he couldn’t change. Natasha supposed it was better that way. It was easier to let go of the pain they all carried rather than dwell too long on it. She returned his smile with one of her own. “Oh shut up,” she said. 

The rest of their team were scouting the area. This safehouse had been used by Shield before, but protocol demanded clearing the area before settling in for the night. They didn’t want any surprise horde infestations suddenly waking up under their noses. Clint and Natasha had secured the bunker and waited for the rest of the team to return. The make up of the team had given Natasha pause. Rumlow had volunteered for this mission before she had joined. Fury OK’d it, despite their recent encounter on the grounds that Rumlow had often run this mission before and that there would be seven of them on this mission. Rumlow was a liaison between their contacts in Belgium and their base in France, so his role on the team made sense. But his presence motivated Clint to come with them, too. He wanted to have her back. 

Before they left, all three of them had a thorough reprimand and debriefing before they left. “I expect professionalism,” Fury had said, eyeing them sternly, “There’s no room for in-fighting or grudges. Not when we’re so damn close to a cure. This is the time to band together, to support our own.” And he was right, they had a job to do. There was no time for this petty bullshit. Natasha twirled the knife again and put it back in its sheath. As long as Rumlow left her alone, they didn’t have a problem. But he always seemed to want to stir up trouble. It was fine when there were seven of them, he and Sitwell kept to themselves. But three other team members ended up out of commission. One was injured by the horde, and the other two stayed with her to help her recover before meeting them at the base in Belgium. There weren’t enough provisions to last all seven of them the likely four to five day recovery time it would take, so Rumlow called it and they all moved on without them. 

That was four days ago. It had been her and Clint and Rumlow and Sitwell ever since. Natasha took to leaving little reports on horde encounters, food supplies, and other information for the three hunters they had left as they made it from one safehouse to the next. It was mostly silent as they travelled. She and Clint hung back while Sitwell and Rumlow took point. They didn’t talk to each other beyond giving updates, and Rumlow never tried to talk to her while Clint was with her. But that didn’t stop her from feeling uneasy in his presence. 

“With Rumlow…” she began, “watch my back for me, okay?” she said, looking up at Clint from where she lounged on the floor of the safehouse. 

He nodded grimly. “Any time, Nat.” He put his arrows back one by one into his quiver, then slung it over his back. Natasha paused a moment, picking at the ridges in the concrete floor where she sat. “And… for the other day with Steve… thank you for trusting me, Clint”. 

He shifted uncomfortably, clearly not liking the direction of conversation. “Yeah,” he replied. 

She watched him through her lashes, trying to gauge his response. She had wanted to thank him a long time ago, but never knew how to bring it up. The topic of Steve always set Clint on edge. She sighed lightly, hating the awkwardness settling between them. Clint traced the ridge of the window slit cut into the concrete of the old bunker, pulling at a rough edge until it broke free. He rolled the little piece of stone between his fingers thoughtfully, contemplating. After a pause, he spoke, pulling her from her thoughts. 

“Tasha…with…  _ Steve _ …” he looked like he tasted something terrible saying his name. “He wanted to kill me. I could see the look in his eyes, the kind that the infected give you— like you’re prey. But you stopped him. He…” he paused, unwilling to finish his thought. Natasha searched him in the dimming light, feeling her heartbeat in her ears. He sighed and rubbed his neck. “Just, I don’t know how you stopped him, or whatever kind of bond you have, I just want you to be careful. We don’t really know what he wants, and with the kind of power he has… I just— didn’t like the way he looked at you.”

Natasha’s gaze fell to the floor in thought. What had he seen? “I don't think he’d hurt me, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she said. 

“I know he wouldn’t, Tasha. I see that now. Just, be careful okay?” 

Natasha swallowed thickly, gripping her knees. She collected herself for a moment before pulling her face into a rueful smile. “Okay,  _ dad,”  _ she said. 

He narrowed his eyes and smiled, playfully throwing the tiny pebble of concrete at her. She ducked as it hit her hair. “Shut up,” he said. 

Suddenly, soft footsteps approached the bunker. Rumlow and Sitwell stepped through the doorway, taking in Natasha and Clint with a grimace. They both straightened, Natasha brushed the concrete from her hair. 

“Are we all clear?” Clint asked flatly. 

Rumlow nodded. His nose was still a little bruised, and definitely still crooked from when Natasha had smashed it.

“We’ll settle in for the night,” Sitwell said, brushing past Rumlow to begin the lock down procedures for the base. 

Rumlow rubbed his chin, staring at Natasha like he wanted to say something, but Clint eyed him warily and strode over to he to help her up, blocking Rumlow from her sight. As he helped her to her feet, Clint gave her a meaningful look, squeezing her arm gently. Natasha smiled, glad that he was there with her. 

After drawing lots, it was determined that Natasha had first watch for the night. She sat up, trying her best not to let her mind wander, but she couldn’t stop herself from thinking about the circumstances of her joining the mission. She remembered Steve looking intently at her, declaring he wanted her to himself. His words troubled her deeply. He didn’t say them out of any kind of selflessness or attraction. It was… covetous. She shuddered at the thought of him wanting her. This wasn’t… the word raced through her mind like a dog after its own tail.  _ Love. _

She furiously shook the thought from her, not wanting to even entertain that word and Steve in the same sentence. She didn’t think he knew how to care about anyone like that, not really. But there was something there, something that she hated to even admit. This failed first cure, while it was still in the works, had brought out his humanity and the more she saw of it, the more she felt there was hope for him. She frowned a little and played with the laces of her combat boots. Was Fury right? Was she compromised? He obviously saw her becoming too close with Steve and this was his solution. But was her even thinking of Steve proof of this? It was concerning to think that he might have escaped— but was it worse to think that he might still be there, enduring torturous experimentation? Natasha exhaled sharply and pulled her knife in and out of its sheath absentmindedly, a far more dangerous question seeping in from the back of her mind. How did  _ she _ feel about him? 

She had told him she wanted time, but couldn’t even entertain the notion that she had a softness for him that she couldn’t explain. She was terrified to think about what that meant. Natasha sighed and slid her knife back into its sheath with finality. She imagined seeing Steve again, imagined him waiting for her at Shield. And she grimaced when she realized that she hoped he would stay. That she didn’t want their last interaction to be the last time she saw him. 

A shadow fell across her and Natasha startled, whipping around to look at Rumlow, standing in the door frame. He smirked at her as he strode in. “Second shift,” he said gruffly. 

She nodded, turning to trade places with him. Rumlow waited while she gathered herself and stood. She hated the way he invaded her space, the way he stood just a little too close to her. Rumlow gave her a half smile and she couldn’t help but frown in return. He always set off her alarm bells, like he was thinking something terrible about her whenever he looked at her. Her frosty reception made his smile slip a little and Natasha tried to shoulder past him, uneasy with his intense scrutiny. But Rumlow stopped her before she left, grabbing her by the arm. Natasha looked at him dangerously. “Don’t touch me—” 

“What does it feel like?” Rumlow interrupted, leaning in close to her, “When you’re with the asset... When he touches you...What does it feel like to be so close to one of them?”

Natasha shrugged out of his grip, curling her fingers into a tight fist. He stepped in front of her and continued, eyes bright with interest. “I’ve seen some of what he can do, but you— you must’ve seen it up close. The power he has...” 

“Move,” she hissed, moving to shove past him again. 

“Is that why you want him?” 

Natasha shoved him away from her. “You got a funny way of asking for a facial, Rumlow.” 

He gave a short laugh and stepped away from her, raising his hands in mock surrender. Natasha considered breaking his nose for a second time, unsure if it was worth it. Maybe the horde would descend on them and slaughter them all. At least she wouldn’t have to hear Rumlow speak anymore.

“I’m just curious,” he said, “I’ve seen the way you two act. Don’t think other people haven’t noticed either. Fury certainly did. But I don’t blame you, Natasha, that kind of power is really something. Just try to have a little dignity, everyone can see you practically begging for him to—” 

Natasha lashed out, fist nearly connecting with his nose again. Rumlow blocked it and swiftly jerked his head away. He laughed a little at her expression. She smiled icily in return. 

“I guess you’re not as stupid as you look,” she said, backing away from him. 

He shrugged and she turned and left the room, thinking of all the ways she might disfigure him as he slept. Luckily, Clint and Sitwell were dozing as she re-entered the room, as her face was flushed with colour. She couldn’t let him get to her like that. She sat down next to Clint, who sleepily opened his eyes a crack to look at her. 

“You good?” he murmured. 

Natasha lay down and turned away from him. “Yeah,” she said. “Just having a nice chat with Rumlow.” 

Clint snorted and covered his eyes with his arm. “Fuck that guy,” he replied. 

Natasha smiled, willing her brain to shut off for the night.  _ Is that why you want him?  _ Rumlow’s words echoed through her. She didn’t know what she wanted. 

* * *

Clint shook Natasha awake the next morning. It was dawn; the sun was just starting to peek above the horizon, lightening the sky into a pale orange hue. The horde would likely be settling down again for the day. They still had about another day’s hike to get to the other base and Natasha was eager to get going. She had a fitful sleep last night, dreaming of her mother. She would be glad to get to the base and be put to work. That, and she wouldn’t have to see Rumlow’s stupid face for a while. They were on the road for a while when Clint nudged her, as they walked. 

“You’re doing it again,” he said. 

Natasha pulled herself from her thoughts. “Hm?”

Clint laughed a little, drawing Rumlow’s gaze as he walked in front of them. Clint stared him down until he looked away, head bowing as he watched his feet. “Spacing out— what is his problem?” he muttered. 

Natasha shook herself and nudged him back. “I kind of tried to break his nose again,” she whispered. 

Clint grinned. “What did he do?” Natasha’s face hardened and Clint’s grin slipped. “Nat, what did he do?” 

Natasha glanced at Rumlow’s back and then over at Clint. “Same shit. He… he said I need to have a little dignity with Steve.” Clint became stony faced as he stared daggers into the back of Rumlow’s head. “Oh for—” he exhaled sharply and turned to face her. 

With a wicked smile, Clint stooped and snagged a pebble from the dirt. He placed it flat in his palm and looked a Natasha for a beat before he flicked it at Rumlow. It struck him on the edge of his ear, and he swatted at it in surprise. When he shot Clint and Natasha a glowering look, Clint swatted at his own ear in mock confusion. 

“Horseflies!” he grumbled. 

Natasha looked at her feet to hide her smile, but she could hear Sitwell scoff, and remarked something under his breath. Clint nudged her and she jabbed him in the ribs. 

“You idiot.” 

Clint smiled his lopsided grin. “Aw come on, I thought that was pretty convincing.” 

Natasha smiled in response, glad that he was there with her for this. She couldn’t imagine travelling alone with Rumlow and Sitwell.

They fell into a comfortable silence for the rest of the trip. Natasha wasn’t sure what to expect when they arrived— maybe it would be like their base, damaged, in need of some repair and relocation of survivors. When they finally arrived, it was late afternoon. Whatever idea Natasha had of what the base should be like disappeared when she finally saw it. It looked fine. There was no visible damage to the front at all, no sign that there had been trouble here. The perimeter fences were all intact, the barricades all still in place. The quietness of it immediately put her on edge. They approached the front wall and Rumlow signalled to the guard tower. It was silent for a moment and Clint shot Natasha an uneasy look. 

The gate eventually shuddered to life, rumbling open to let them pass. The party made their way to the front entrance, but Natasha darted looks across the courtyard, unable to quiet this sense of alarm that rose in her. They entered through the gates into the annex.

As they stepped into the small room, it was suspiciously empty, save for some debris and papers scattered in the annex, and bullet holes lining the walls. Natasha and Clint had their hackles raised immediately, weapons out and backing up to scan the room. Something was seriously wrong. There should have been a guard team to greet them and assess them for infection and debrief them. Instead, the halls echoed with their footsteps as they cautiously stepped into the entrance. Natasha stole a glance at Clint, who returned her look with a stormy expression of his own. Rumlow and Sitwell shifted with unease, looking paranoid. The lights were on, though some flickered near the end of the hall. 

“Clint,” Natasha said quietly, “I think we should leave…” 

He nodded, tensely watching the hall. “Yeah,” he replied, “Something’s wrong. We need to report this to Fury.” 

Natasha retreated, backing away toward the door. She turned and came face to face with Rumlow, who watched the hallway just behind her. 

“Let’s go,” she prompted, fear sending goosebumps down her arms. 

“Romanoff, wait,” Rumlow said softly, “We can’t go just yet.” 

Before she could question him, her body seized, and a hoarse cry tore from her lips. She collapsed to the floor, shaking and jerking. Her mind scrambled to catch up with the sensations, and she lay, dazed on the floor. As her mind cleared, she focused on Sitwell’s boots as he stepped in front of her, noting the stitching, the mud, the places that had been worn down with use. Natasha’s head lolled and she stared up at him, looking down at her with a stun baton in hand. He gave her a wry smile as she trembled on the floor. Distantly, she heard the sounds of struggle… Clint. 

Natasha tried to move, but her brain scrambled the signals and her limbs only twitched and moved halfheartedly. She only managed to roll herself over, trying to crawl to where Clint fought with Rumlow, but she felt Sitwell plant his boot on her back, pinning her to the floor. Natasha grunted, watching helplessly as Rumlow pinned Clint, beating him over and over, sending blood flying from his fist. Clint managed to buck him off, rolling to get him in a chokehold. 

The fight ended suddenly when another figure strode in, tearing Clint from Rumlow with ease and threw him violently to the floor. Before he could recover, the woman grabbed Clint and struck him across the jaw. When he fell limp in her grasp she ran a clawed finger over his lip, swiping the blood from his mouth with a delicate smile. She dropped him in a heap on the floor and sucked her finger like a child stealing a taste of icing from a cake.

Dazed, Natasha eyed her in amazement. The infected woman’s white eyes glittered in the dim light. She wore a fitted, revealing satin black gown that swept down to her bare feet. Her raven hair was long and silken, braided on one side to better reveal her ghostly white skin, the graceful arch of her brows, the sharp cheekbones of her beautiful face. The sight was so strange, so out of place, that Natasha froze in confusion. She had never in her life seen someone so elegant. 

From behind the infected woman, Rumlow slowly stood, wiping the blood and sweat from his face with the back of his hand. He turned to face the woman, looking at her with reverence, admiration, as she faced him with a knowing smile. 

“Hail Hydra,” he said quietly. 

Natasha didn’t have a chance to recover before she was shocked again and her mind went blank. 

* * *

Slipping in an out of awareness, she had no idea where she was being dragged to, or how to get back to where she was before. When she finally regained a little of her senses, she sat up a bit. The room was dark, many of the overhead lights were shattered and Natasha waited for her eyes to adjust. The smell was nauseating. Natasha could hear someone move in front of her and she instinctively reached for her weapons, only to discover that she had been disarmed and her hands were bound in Shield-issue metal restraints. 

“Tasha.” Clint whispered in the dim light. 

He eyes snapped to him in the darkness and she sighed in relief, but it was short lived as she saw where they were. In the space of the small room, bodies lined the floor. Rows and rows of Shield personnel, hunters, survivors were arranged neatly, faces frozen in horror. Natasha’s breath hitched. They had been dead for what looked like several days now, skin sallow and bloating, wounds long since blackened and dried, their mouths gaped open in slight ‘o’s where rigor mortis had set in. 

“Oh…” Her soft exclamation cut through the silence, settling like a blanket over the dead. “Clint—” She whispered, eyes shining with tears. She could see him look away, his quiet rage thunderous in the darkness. 

Light from the hallway suddenly sliced into the dark as Rumlow and Sitwell strode into the room. Clint sprang to his feet, charging them violently, but was quickly subdued by Sitwell’s stun baton. Rumlow shoved Natasha back down when she tried to stand and Clint was dragged unceremoniously from the room. Her heart pounded as cold fear settled deep within her. 

“Where are you taking him?!” she shouted after Sitwell, trying once again to scramble after him. But Rumlow swiftly struck her in the stomach, sending her wheezing to the floor. 

Illuminated by the hallway, Rumlow slowly sat across from her, and idly withdrew his knife. Natasha huffed, trying to catch her breath and watched him hatefully. Rumlow smirked at her. 

“Hey, Romanoff,” he said, rather pleasantly. 

She only stared in response, seething with rage. He looked away first. 

“The only reason you’re alive is because of me,” he said softly. 

Natasha leaned forward, gaze unwavering. “ _ Fuck _ you,” she said. 

He smirked at that, eyeing his blade in contemplation. “How long do you think Shield has left with our current resources?” he said, face serious. “seven, maybe twelve years, tops? We’ve lost, Natasha, I think you know that. I know where this is headed, I’m just choosing the winning side.” 

“You sold us out, Rumlow,” she spat, “You know how close we are to a cure.” 

“And so are they,” he said, leaning toward her. “That infected woman— she’s one of the first Old Ones, maybe even older than Cap. She’s Hydra…”

Natasha flushed in anger at the mention of Hydra, quietly watching Rumlow. He seemed to revel in her hatred.

“They are perfecting the infection, Natasha. They are paving the way for a new world order. They are working on correcting flaws in the infected. Memory loss, for example.” 

Natasha pursed her lips and Rumlow gave her a lopsided smile. After they had captured Russia and the Eastern European countries, Hydra activity went dormant. Shield never knew what they planned, guessing that they were just waiting them out, but to think that they had been experimenting, perfecting this disease, working all this time… 

“She is already perfected and she’s going to give me that perfection too. The Old Ones will inherit this dying world and rebuild it.” His eyes were wide, almost luminous in the stark light of the hall. “Humanity is obsolete. Seeing them, the power they have— they are the next step, Natasha, the superior race. And I can be a part of that.” 

She snorted derisively. “You’re a sick fuck, Rumlow.” 

He backed off a little, frustrated with Natasha’s lack of understanding. Sheathing his knife, he stood, shaking his head a little. “You have a choice, Natasha. There’s no winning for you, no miraculous escape. You either die here, or you take this opportunity to join the winning side.” When Natasha fixed him with an angry, impassive look he smirked at her. “I thought you’d understand, given your…  _ involvement _ with the asset.” 

Natasha dug her nails into her palms. She wouldn’t let him get to her like this again. Rumlow would certainly pay, but now wasn’t the time. He considered her for a moment, amused that he could rile her so easily. At least she hadn’t tried to hit him this time, but he still seemed pleased to see that he needed to only mention Steve to upset her. 

“Maybe you need some time to reflect,” he said, standing with a smirk. “Think about it, Romanoff..." 

Natasha spat at his feet and he laughed at that. Turning from her, he shut the door behind him, plunging her into darkness with the dead. 

* * *

Natasha lost track of time. It was hard to know how long she had been in there, deprived of her sense of sight, the odour of rotting flesh seemed stronger. Natasha tried to stay calm, tried not to think about what they were doing with Clint, what they would do with her. It wasn’t difficult to imagine— the bodies of fallen hunters were a constant reminder of her fate. 

Not content with sitting there, Natasha searched the corpses for something she could use to help her escape. Mostly she just fumbled, fingers brushing over sticky, putrid flesh that sent up a wave of odour so foul that it made her eyes water. Natasha just moved her jacket up over her nose breathed the stale, sickly air through her mouth, and kept digging. She wasn’t going to die yet. Not before she made Rumlow and Sitwell pay for what they had done. Methodically, she searched. Patting down body after body until she began to lose count. The smell permeated her, settling on her skin, her hair, her clothes like a noxious cloud. Eventually it no longer bothered her. Finally, Natasha’s fingers lit on something familiar on one of one of the dead. A concealed boot knife. Natasha took it, silently thanking the hunter and promising to use it well. She tucked it into her own boot and sat back against the wall to wait. Her wrists were still bound and she calculated dislocating her thumb to escape. It would make it more difficult to fight effectively if she did… 

When light flooded the room, Natasha winced, caught off guard. She didn’t see who grabbed her at first, feeling rough hands haul her into the hallway as she struggled. Natasha never had the chance to get her feet under her before she was thrown to the floor. She had expected Rumlow or Sitwell. Distantly, she had hoped it was Clint here to help her make her escape. As her eyes adjusted to the hard fluorescence of the hallway, she looked up to see the infected woman, eyes shining, a touch of cruel humour in her smile. She seemed to revel in watching Natasha prone on the floor at her feet, like this was her natural state. She above, Natasha below. Natasha scrambled to stand, getting to her knees. When the woman placed her hand gently on her shoulder, clawed fingers brushing her cheek, Natasha froze, heart racing with anticipation. The woman smiled widely, revealing rows of pointed teeth. 

“You smell of death,” she purred, fingers smoothing flyaways from Natasha’s face. 

Natasha met her gaze, eyes shining with anger. The woman laughed at the sight, and Natasha could see her lips and cheeks seemed almost rosy, sated with so much human blood that colour had returned to her pallid skin. Revulsion settled on Natasha and she shrugged away from the infected woman’s touch with a disgusted look. 

The woman smiled, and backhanded Natasha, striking her mouth with such force that her lip split open. A spray of blood painted the concrete as Natasha’s head snapped violently and she crumpled to the floor. Disoriented, Natasha didn’t resist when the woman hauled her upright, her face so close that Natasha felt the coolness of her breath in her mouth. 

“You don’t get to look at me that way,” she murmured, tracing the curve of Natasha’s face with her fingers. “You are less than nothing.” 

When the woman swiped the blood from Natasha’s lip with her thumb, pressing too hard against the split in her flesh. But the pain steadied her. Natasha met her eyes again and the woman grinned and licked the blood from her digit. 

“You taste much better than your friend,” she taunted, releasing Natasha with a shove. Natasha tried not to rise to the bait, but she couldn’t control the rage and fear that made her heart race and her face flush. The woman laughed, a tinkling girlish sound that sent a wave of hatred through Natasha. 

“I can see this will be fun,” she said, striding to Natasha and grasping her by her restraints. 

“You may call me Madame Hydra,” she said quietly. “It’s the name I want you use when you beg for your life.” With a quick tug, she snapped the metal binding Natasha’s wrists and leaned in close, eyes deadened and cold. 

“I’ll give you a five minute head-start.” 

Madame Hydra’s ringing laughter followed Natasha as she scrambled to her feet and ran from the room. 

There was nowhere she could go that Madame Hydra couldn’t find her. As Natasha ran through the maze of hallways, she thought to find Clint, to find something that she could use to fight,  _ anything _ . She burst through a set of double doors into a large room. This base looked to be a converted factory of some sort. The ceilings were high and vaulted in this room, and her footsteps and breaths echoed in the emptiness of the space. It was hard to tell what this used to be— a common room, or training room, maybe? The furniture was stripped from the room, large craters tore pockmarks in the concrete of the floor, rusty bloodstains painted the floor and walls. It didn’t matter, she supposed. There was a breach in the wall— she could make her escape from there. But how far would she get? They were days away from safety… 

Natasha paused, eyes wildly scanning the room as she struggled to think what her next move would be. Unhelpful thoughts invaded - making it difficult to think at all. Madame Hydra would catch her, her body would be placed with the others. If she died here, she’d never know what became of Clint. She imagined Fury, brow furrowed in anger when he learned that they had never returned. She envisioned Rumlow and Sitwell continuing their sabotage of Shield, imagined the bullshit story they would tell about her and Clint. Natasha shook herself a little, but one last, intrusive thought curled around her, squeezing her heart tightly - she’d never see Steve again. 

Natasha sucked her bloody lower lip tenderly and wiped the blood from her chin, feeling her time slipping away. She didn’t have time for this. She would make her stand here. Natasha bent to withdraw the boot knife, but stopped when she heard faint footsteps approach. She withdrew the knife and whirled to the source of the sound, sure that Madame Hydra had found her. 

But it wasn’t her. A flood of emotions swirled in Natasha and she gave a funny little sob-laugh when she saw that it was Steve. He was still dressed in the Shield medical recovery clothes, now stained with blood and grime, suggesting a violent escape. Had he honoured her request to not kill anyone? It looked like he had at least drank blood in the twenty or so days since she had last seen him. He must have. Natasha’s brain just flooded a steady supply of questions; how had he escaped? How had he found her? Steve hesitantly stepped toward her, eyes searching her as she sheathed her knife. She couldn’t hide the relief she felt at the sight of him, offering the tiniest of smiles as he approached. A lifetime had passed since she had spoken to him, since she had touched him, since he had confessed that he wanted her. As all of these thoughts came back, she didn’t know what to say. The sight of him here was so out of place that she could only watch him in stunned silence. 

Natasha shook herself again; she couldn’t let this distract her. She looked at the darkness of the doorway behind her briefly before turning her attention back to Steve. “What are you doing here?” she said quietly. His lips parted slightly at the question, brow furrowed in confusion. He seemed to retreat inward a little, face clouding over with uncertainty. It was as if he wasn’t sure how to answer the question. 

Natasha took a half step closer when he became lost in thought. “It doesn’t matter,” she said urgently, taking his hand and darting a look at the hallway again, “We have to go, Steve.” 

But Steve looked at her imploringly, seemingly unsure of what to make of this. He studied her hand in his and gave her fingers an experimental squeeze, drawing her focus back to him. Natasha frowned a little, her heart thundering in her ears. Was he still distrustful after their last encounter? Was he angry with her for leaving him? She didn’t have time to ask before she was interrupted by a small gasp from behind her. The emotion of it unsettled Natasha and she turned, thinking she would see another hunter, a survivor who had found them. 

Instead Madame Hydra entered the room, her face knit into a strange, melancholy expression. Natasha slipped her hand from Steve’s readying herself for a fight. But Madame Hydra didn’t look at her, she looked at Steve. 

“ _ Steven, _ ” she purred. 

Steve glanced at Natasha, not recognizing the woman, but she had no explanation for him. Madame Hydra moved fluidly, seeming to glide across the floor over to them. She reached out and cupped Steve’s face, eyes taking him in like he was a long lost lover. Natasha backed away, an awful sensation settling over her as she realized that she knew him. Madame Hydra knew who he was. Natasha’s fingers itched, wanting to draw her boot knife. 

“You’re alive,” she smiled lightly, fingers tracing his temples as she brushed the hair from his forehead. “I knew you’d be one of us, you were such a strong man.” She slid her hand down his face, brushing his lip with her thumb. Steve blinked, searching her face. A low hum rose from the back of her throat. “That Carter woman kept you from me. She made sure we never found you. We assumed you had died.” An edge of hatred tinged her voice. She paused, drinking Steve in, surveying his features. They were similar in many ways, the infection giving them the same silver and black eyes, the same blackened veins set under pale skin. Natasha felt alien in their presence, like she was the anomaly here. Madame Hydra’s eyes slid to her and Natasha felt like an insect pinned by her gaze. 

Madame Hydra’s smile widened as she turned her attention back to Steve. “You were my favourite,” she murmured. “I suppose you don’t remember— we haven’t fixed you yet. But I have never forgotten the look on your face when I turned your friends in front of you, the look you gave me when I finally turned you.” 

Natasha blanched, eyes flicking to Steve, but he wasn’t looking at her. He didn’t react to Madame Hydra’s words. Why didn’t he do anything? Why didn’t he move? It made Natasha want to scream. Madame Hydra moved closer to him, mouth skimming along his jawline “I’ll always treasure the taste of your blood,” she whispered. 

Steve watched her through his lashes, mouth set in a hard line. Natasha shifted, her heart racing as she tried to think how she could escape without their noticing. Madame Hydra paused a moment, tilting her head to the side curiously. She placed a hand over his heart. 

“But—oh what have they done to you?” she pouted. “They’ve spoiled you.” Her eyes slid behind her and fixed on Natasha, and the hairs on her neck stood on end. Steve followed Madame Hydra’s gaze and met Natasha’s wild eyes. With the both of them watching her, Natasha quickly stopped and drew the boot knife. Pointing it at Madame Hydra, she gritted her teeth, steeling herself for a fight. 

With a laugh, Madame Hydra turned back to Steve, sliding her hand down his chest to rest on his side. 

“I can fix that,” she said, brushing his hair out of his face with her other hand. He looked down at her curiously. “I can make you whole again, Steven, you can finally be where you belong. You can take your place with the chosen few,” she finished with a smile. Steve breathed, turning his gaze back to Natasha with a flicker of confusion. Madame Hydra frowned, gently she reached up and guided Steve to look at her again. “I see you have taken an interest in my little pet,” she sneered, appraising Natasha disdainfully. “She’s quite pretty.” 

Before Natasha could react, Madame Hydra lunged and closed the space between them. She slammed Natasha into the brick wall behind them with a low growl. The impact knocked the breath from Natasha and she nearly dropped her knife. Faster than Natasha’s eyes could follow, Madame Hydra gripped Natasha’s face painfully, mouth spreading into a wicked smile. 

“I bet she’d really be beautiful when she screams.” 

Natasha slashed at her, pushing through her haze of fear. With a tinkling laugh, Madame Hydra grabbed the blade, letting it cut into her flesh. Natasha pulled, but Madame Hydra held fast, trapping the blade in her grip as her dark blood dripped from her hand. She squeezed Natasha's jaw and Natasha felt it creak in her grip. Without hesitation, she flipped her grip on the blade, pulling it downward through the woman’s hand, leaving her open. Natasha thrust her blade forward, barely sinking the blade beneath the creature’s ribs. With a growl, Madame Hydra jumped back, releasing Natasha from her grasp and she stumbled forward, nearly losing her footing as she brought her blade back up, standing at the ready. With a hateful smile, Madame Hydra dabbed at the blood on her chest before licking it from her fingers.

“Oh she has  _ teeth,”  _ she said. “I can see why you haven’t killed her yet, Steven.” 

Natasha chanced at glance at Steve, still standing where she had left him. What was wrong with him? “Steve,” she said, turning her attention back to Madame Hydra as she paced lithely across the floor. “Steve, talk to me.” 

As he looked at her with faint recognition, brows knitted in confusion, an awful thought dawned on Natasha, settling over her like a shroud. How long had it been since she left him? Nearly twenty days? She felt sick, remembering their conversation in his cell **. **

_ It makes me forget,  _ he had said _ . Drinking blood, It makes me forget who I am... _

No… This whole time, even when she was with him... whenever he succumbed to his thirst, he had lost little fragments of his mind. How could she had overlooked this? She was so focused on her mission, on getting what Shield wanted from him, on pushing aside her empathy for him, that she had ignored what he had told her. She didn’t know that it was this bad. When she had left… Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. Was that why he asked her not to go? 

Madame Hydra smiled, watching Natasha with glittering eyes. “Do you understand now?” She lunged forward, catching Natasha off guard, and threw her to the floor. “You’re alone, girl,” she whispered, smiling down at her with rows of pointed teeth. 

Natasha looked at Steve one last time. He watched her with a soft expression; he seemed to be struggling with himself— his eyes darted between her and Madame Hydra with deep uncertainty. “Steve, I’m so sorry,” she whispered, feeling Madame Hydra’s teeth at her throat. 

Suddenly Natasha felt the woman jerk away from her with a snarl. Steve loomed over her, fist wound tightly in Madame Hydra’s hair before he threw her to the floor. Natasha pushed herself backward, scrambling to get away. She brought her blade up defensively, but Steve turned and grabbed her arm, twisting the knife from her. Natasha looked at him, eyes wide in horror, as he watched her with an inscrutable expression. From the floor behind them, Madame Hydra laughed, face hard with rage, as she gracefully regained her footing. 

“My apologies,” she said, addressing Steve, “did you want to kill this one?” 

Studying Natasha intensely, Steve held her tightly in his grip, unmoving. Madame Hydra laughed her awful, tinkling laugh and gracefully stood and paced over to Steve. She cupped his face lightly, “Would you like a moment? I imagine you’d like to savour this,” she breathed. “I’ll have my fun with the other hunters, but leave some of her for me.” 

She smiled, eyes flitting up and down his face. Whatever expression he had made her smile widen sinisterly. “Welcome home, Steven,” she whispered, and pressed her lips to his. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone! I hope this was a surprising turn of events to kick of 2020 lol. The chapter is out a little earlier than expected-- I am unexpectedly busy on Thursday and finished the edits today instead. I will post another chapter on Saturday or Sunday as usual. After this week, it might be back to one chapter per week, but I will see what kind of time I have. 
> 
> Madame Hydra is a Cap and sometimes X-Men villain from the comics. I thought she'd fit well here.


	13. Initiation

A mix of emotions flooded through Natasha as she watched them kiss. She bristled in discomfort and looked away, feeling like her heart might leap out of her. Steve pressed his thumb against her pulse with curious interest and she glared at the floor, feeling like a discarded toy. Natasha refused to watch, refused to see if he enjoyed it. Madame Hydra’s eyes slid open and she looked at Natasha gleefully, finally pulling away from Steve. Fighting the overwhelming urge to roll her eyes, Natasha stayed silent, submissively kneeling at their feet as she subtly searched for her blade. It was closer than she thought it would be. If she could make a move, dive for it, she would have it. 

Madame Hydra slid her hands away from Steve with a knowing smile and turned from him. He watched Madame Hydra as she left, giving Natasha a moment to regroup. Trying to shake off the bristling feeling of her insignificance, Natasha chanced a look at Steve. From over his shoulder, he glanced down at her, eyes cold as he appraised her. Despite her resolve, she couldn’t help but feel hurt when he looked at her like that. Like he didn’t know her. He was different from the man she had left.

Fear settled over Natasha, having a visible effect on Steve. The smell of it seemed to interest him. He inhaled deeply and Natasha recognized the look of terrible thirst that settled on him as he traced the blood oozing from the split on her lip. There was a beat, she waited for him to move, say something, anything that would tell her how to respond.But the only answer she got was her heart hammering in her chest. When Steve turned to face her, she reacted, twisting out of his grip. She couldn’t stand to wait and see what he would do anymore. Natasha scrambled, fingers landing on the small knife. Gripping it tightly, she swung the blade up to slice at Steve’s ribs as he reached to disarm her. He blocked it and lunged forward. 

From her crouching position, Steve easily took her to the floor, using his weight and size to his advantage. Natasha’s training kicked in, pushing her body through its fight or flight response. She got her knee up between them and pushed him from her, fighting for an advantage. Steve rolled and recovered quickly, grabbing her leg and pulling her toward him again. She wasn’t going to overpower him, so she let him come in closer, bringing the blade up between them as he pinned her beneath him. 

Natasha held the knife point to his heart. She had him. Steve glanced between the blade pointed at his chest and Natasha and paused, his hands planted on the floor as he loomed above her. His face was close, their noses almost touching. Natasha could clearly see the silver of his irises, the way her panting breaths displaced his hair, the flicker of his gaze as he surveyed her, taking in the halo of red flyaways, the curve of her face, the shape of her lips… She could do it, she could kill him. Natasha gritted her teeth and pierced his skin, dark blood staining the tip of the blade like a quill dipped in ink. 

Steve’s lips parted questioningly as he calmly searched her. Slowly, he wound his fingers around her wrist and sat back on his heels, pulling her to sit up with him. He held her there, blade at his chest and relaxed his hand back down to his side. Natasha willed herself to drive the blade in, to finish it. _ He doesn’t know you, _ she reasoned. _ He’s one of them. _ But her hand shook and the knife wouldn't go any further. When she had failed to kill him the first time at the base— it was because she needed to know if the cure had worked. There was no reason why she couldn’t now… Her heart pounded in her ears. 

“You can’t do it, can you?” Steve asked. 

Eyes widening, Natasha flushed and exhaled shakily. She stared at the point at his chest, the dab of blood staining his shirt. Steve gently reached up and took the blade from her, sliding it back into its holster on her boot. He looked at her like she was a puzzle, an abstraction that he couldn’t quite wrap his mind around. 

“Who are you?” he demanded. 

It shouldn’t kill her to hear him ask, but it did. Natasha crumpled, unable to look at him any longer. When she had left him, she was afraid to consider who she was to him. She didn’t know how to answer that now, either. Natasha chewed at the cut on her lip, idly sucking the iron taste. She was the woman who had let him down in every way that mattered. She ran when she couldn’t face him, couldn’t face herself. She couldn’t kill him, free him, fix him... She was a coward. 

“Nobody,” she whispered. 

Frustrated, Steve pursed his lips, willing her to look at him. But she couldn’t, she wouldn’t. “That’s not true,” he breathed. His fingers brushed under her chin, tilting her face to level with his. Natasha finally brought herself to look at him. All those moments they had shared, the stories she had told him, his gentleness when he looked at her, the strange bond they had— it was all gone. 

“Steve, I’m sorry,” she said, feeling the guilt and anguish rush from her, “I didn’t know you had forgotten this much… I didn’t know…” His face flickered in confusion, he seemed to dance around the idea of her like a word on the tip of his tongue. 

“...I know your scent,” he said quietly, “I was tracking it here, but I lost the reason why. It led to you.” He looked at her anxiously, searching for answers. “Tell me who you are.”

Breathing softly, Natasha reached up and covered his hand with her own, imitating the gesture he had done to her during their last meeting. She couldn’t define what they were before, and the hurt she felt confused her. She didn’t know what their relationship was, but she knew she had found something of a trust in him and she… missed that. Whatever they had before, she wanted it back. Pragmatically, it might be her only way out of here, but she couldn’t help but feel that she wanted that kinder, gentler Steve back, too. The reasons why were unfathomable. Steve faltered, shying away from her touch. 

From the other end of the room, Madame Hydra returned. Sauntering in, she dragged Rumlow and Sitwell behind her. Her eyes glittered with satisfied humour as she dropped their bodies by her feet and with a chuckle she licked at the blood on her fingers and looked over at Steve. Sitwell lay motionless, but Rumlow writhed, contorting painfully. 

“You’re taking your time, Steven,” she tutted, barely disguising her irritation. 

Steve grimaced, pulling away from Natasha slightly. But he hovered over her, coiled tensely as he watched Madame Hydra make her way toward him. Natasha’s fingers hovered over the holster at her ankle. 

“She and I aren’t done,” he warned. 

Madame Hydra eyed him and laughed. “Oh, Steven. Is she special to you?” 

Natasha watched the woman carefully, fearing what might happen if she dared to look away, though she could see Steve looking at her again in her periphery. Annoyance crossed Madame Hydra’s face as she watched them, clearly not pleased with Steve’s response. He didn’t know what Natasha was, but he hadn’t killed her yet, either. She collected herself with a slight shake and addressed him again. “You can keep her, if you like. You can turn her.” 

Steve looked at Natasha curiously and Horror flashed through Natasha as she watched him consider the possibility. “Maybe she’d even be one of us,” Madame Hydra continued, “or maybe she’d be one of the feral ones. Either way, she’d be yours.” 

Natasha’s fingers brushed at the hilt of the concealed blade. Steve’s eyes flickered to her hand and then back to her face. From behind them, Rumlow howled, writhing on the floor. Madame Hydra rolled her eyes in annoyance, clearly irritated with the interruption. Natasha forced herself to look at Madame Hydra. 

“What did you do to him?” she asked quietly. 

Madame Hydra loomed over them, leaning down to level her gaze on Natasha. “I did what he asked,” she purred. “I turned him. Surely you’ve seen it done before?” 

Natasha glowered, remembering her family, remembering the people she had lost to this. She had seen people turn before, but never at the hands of an Old One. Her expression made Madame Hydra smile. She turned to Steve, leaning in closer. 

“Shall I turn her?” she whispered. “It’ll be my gift to you.” 

She turned back to Natasha, silver eyes glittering in her beautiful face, wicked smile playing at her lips. Natasha didn’t give her the chance to make good on her promise. She unsheathed her blade and slit the creature’s throat as she leaned over them. Blood showered them, painting Steve’s neck and back as he protectively leaned over Natasha. 

Madame Hydra reeled back, screeching like a wounded animal. Gargling in her own blood, she flailed around the room, clutching at her throat. Natasha flipped the knife in her grasp, preparing to try and finish the job when she was suddenly scooped up by Steve. Holding her tightly, he retreated from the room and ran deeper into the facility, Madame Hydra’s shrieks echoed down the hall behind them. 

Natasha yelped and struggled. “Steve, stop! I can end this! I can kill her!” she cried, peeking over his shoulder into the darkness behind them. They barged through a set of doors and he set her down. 

“With what, your little butter knife?” he breathed, “What was your plan? To run up to a wounded, violent creature and what, stab her in the heart? Cut off her head? Your blade is barely five inches long.” 

Natasha burned with anger, feeling her face redden from the tops of her shoulders to the tips of her ears. “What was I supposed to do then?” she hissed. “Wait for one of you to turn me? Steve, I would rather die.” 

His face hardened as he watched her, lips pursing into a tight line. The longer he stayed silent, the more horrified Natasha became. Jerking away from him, she surveyed the room. It would be too late to go back and finish the job now. She knew that it wasn’t her best option to try and kill an Old One with a little boot knife, but she didn’t know what her other options were. Clint was missing, Rumlow was infected, Sitwell was probably dead or infected, this place was likely crawling with other infected, and Steve didn’t remember her. 

She sighed in frustration, willing her face to cool down, but the rage and hurt she felt weren’t so easily suppressed. She wasn’t sure how she was going to make it out of this mess alive, but it would be a worse fate to be infected. Did Steve really want that for her? Is that what he meant when he said he wanted her to himself? The thought disgusted her, though she supposed she wouldn’t really know what his intentions were now. 

She could feel his eyes on her back. It was hard to look at him without feeling a swirl of emotions. She was at once so relieved, hurt, angry, afraid. But now wasn’t the time to untangle them or what they meant— Not while Madame Hydra was likely recovered enough to hunt them and Clint was still missing somewhere in the facility. Natasha pursed her split lip, the pain focused her as she considered her next move. 

“I’m out of options here, Steve,” she said, “I’m not leaving without my partner. I might not be leaving at all… So I need to know why you’re here with me now.” 

Steve didn’t seem to know how to respond to that. His silence incensed her, sending a little prickle of anger across her skin. Natasha looked at him for a beat. He really seemed like he didn’t know what to make of all this. He hovered by the door, keeping his distance from her. Natasha took a tentative half-step toward him. While he didn’t move, he was guarded, unsure of what she wanted. Natasha’s stomach dropped, and she looked away to disguise the look of hurt she was certain coloured her features. 

“Why are you here, Steve?” she asked quietly, “Why are you still with me?” 

His eyes flickered as he watched her. He shifted, unable to answer her. Natasha took another step toward him, needing to know. “You found someone like you, an Old One, an infected who is your equal,” she said, bristling at the memory of the two of them together, looking at her like she mattered less than the dirt beneath their feet, “She will kill me if she finds me again. I need to know if you’re going to stand by and watch her do that.”

Her imploring look was met with his impassive one. This seemed to confirm for Natasha that he was gone, and she was alone. She was a stranger to him, and it was a lot to ask that he put his life on the line to help her. Though she couldn’t explain what they were before, now she was just another human. What were her struggles to him now? She tried not to let it show how much it hurt, but she couldn’t help the sad smile as she looked away to study the floor. This seemed to spark something in Steve, his lips parted slightly as he watched her, but Natasha couldn’t afford to give this any more time. Pushing this thought aside, she turned and left the room without looking back. When the doors swung shut behind her, she closed her heart to this terrible ache, turning her attention to more pressing matters.

Surely this next encounter wouldn’t end well. She had caught Madame Hydra off-guard with her attack, but Steve was right, a little tactical knife wasn’t going to cut it. She needed her gear back before finding Clint, and had to assume that Madame Hydra already knew that. She adjusted her grip on her little blade and mentally took stock of her surroundings. It appeared that they were in the Shield sleeping quarters. If Natasha were to bet where she might find Clint and maybe her gear, it would be in the lab area or holding cells where Madame Hydra could leave him without him escaping. That was assuming he was still alive. She swallowed and shook the thought from her. But Madame Hydra had a flair for the theatrical and if she hadn’t come to hunt her down by now, then she must be planning something for her. Natasha took off, silently stepping over debris and the remains of other hunters. 

From the hall behind her, Natasha heard the doors open and she turned to see Steve hesitantly step from the room she had left him in. He spotted her down the hall, eyes glinting in the faint moonlight filtering through the gap in the ceiling. She was reminded of when they first met, and a chill raced up her back. His expression was unreadable at this distance, but she paused, waiting to see what he would do. He slowly made his way to her, joining her in the room. When he reached her, he buckled under the weight of her gaze and cast his eyes to his feet as he spoke. 

“I can’t explain it,” he said quietly. “But I know I came here for you and I don’t think I could live with myself if I never knew why.” 

Natasha swallowed the lump forming in her throat. This was the best he could offer her right now. “I can count on you, then?” she asked. “If I’m fighting for my life, I can count on you?” Steve flicked his gaze to her, taking in the tightness of her expression, the concern in her luminous green eyes. He nodded and Natasha couldn’t stop the half-smile that pulled the corner of her lips. Even if was curiosity that kept him here, she was grateful he had decided to stay. 

“Thank you, Steve,” she said sincerely.

Natasha turned her attention back to the emptiness of the hallway in front of her. She didn’t see the softness overtake Steve’s features as he watched her. 

They ventured further in to the facility. Natasha knew that if this place was anything like other Shield bases, an evacuation floor plan map should be posted on the walls of the bunk room. She guessed correctly and removed the map from the wall to try and study it in the moonlight filtering in through the ceiling. The labs and holding cells were at the far end of the facility. They would have to cut through the command centre which was back down the hall the opposite way. Once she was oriented, they set off again. 

As they journeyed deeper into the building, nearing the command centre, the lights were all smashed, leaving them in total darkness. Natasha was glad to have Steve here. She couldn’t see in the dark and needed him to guide her. She held his shirt in one hand, her boot knife in the other as she followed close behind him, doing her best not to stumble. When Steve paused, Natasha stopped, ears straining to listen over the beating of her heart. She could feel him turn to face her and he seemed to catch the smell of something in the room. 

“Your scent is in here, too,” he said softly, “did you lose something?”

Natasha nodded, gripping his shirt tightly. His voice sounded thunderously loud in the darkness of the room. 

“Wait here,” he said, and Natasha let him go. He disappeared into the room, and Natasha waited, gripping her knife tightly. She felt surrounded, exposed in the darkness. She could hear him shuffle, picking something up as he found what he was looking for. He returned, carefully setting something down at Natasha’s feet and making her jump. It unnerved Natasha that Steve could move in total silence like that. If Steve could do it, surely Madame Hydra could do the same… 

Natasha crouched and fumbled with the items. She felt at the bag, pulling items of clothing, glass, metal. It was her gear. She sighed in relief as she recognized the hilt of her axes, the canvas sheath of her combat knife. 

“Thanks,” she said, hastily holstering her weapons into their homes on her body. “Really, thank you.” Natasha withdrew an axe with a broad smile, feeling reassured. She stood and reached out, searching for Steve in the darkness where she thought he stood. Her fingers brushed him, lighting on his stomach and he shifted, uncomfortable with the contact. Natasha swallowed, glad she couldn’t see his face as she softly apologized and gripped his shirt instead. 

Steve paused for a moment before turning and guiding her from the command centre toward the labs. Their pace was slower than Natasha would’ve liked. Each step she took seemed agonizingly loud, and she feared that she would give away their position, that Madame Hydra would descend on her in the darkness to end her. But she never did. There was no sign of anyone else in the darkness of the facility. That unnerved Natasha more, somehow. 

Between the sounds of her footsteps echoing down the hall, Natasha could hear voices, faintly in the distance. Her hair stood on end and she gripped her axe more tightly as she strained to listen, but the voices were garbled, too soft to make anything out. Steve turned to look at her, and she swallowed, gripping him tightly as she waited, listening. There was still nothing. No sign of immediate danger. Natasha nodded, and they continued, the voices becoming clearer as they approached a door at the end of the corridor.

From outside the doors they heard a steady whir. Tinny sounds of struggle and voices echoed, bright light filtered through the cracks of the door. Slowly, Natasha pushed the door open. It was an old lab room, stripped of all the furniture except an old table in the centre of the room. On it sat an old movie projector, whirring and clicking away as it spewed light and grainy images onto the bare wall. Figures scuffled in a blur, and the camera struggled to focus. The figure on screen beat the other into silence, then readjusted the camera. Natasha recognized the man as he tried to focus, eyes roaming the room. It was Steve. She scanned the room nervously, looking for any sign of danger as her eyes adjusted to the bright light. Steve stopped by the projector with curious interest. 

From off-camera a crackling female voice asked, “What is the location of Shield’s hideouts? Where is Stark’s lab?”

The Steve in the video rocked his head back, the questions were repeated, and he looked at his captor with a little more clarity. His state suggested they had been at this for a while. In the grainy footage Natasha could see he was shirtless, his body covered in an array of wounds. It was difficult to tell any of them apart, but she could see he bled from burns, lacerations and welts. His shoulder looked dislocated, his fingers bent in odd angles where they had been broken. Some fingers were missing nails, appearing as black bloody spots in the old footage. A sheen of sweat covered his face and body, reflecting the harsh lighting and overexposing him in the film. He seemed to take on an eerie glow. Facing his captor, he spat on the floor at her feet. 

“I’m not telling you a damn thing,” he rasped, panting heavily in the static of the old film. 

There was a flurry of movement and Madame Hydra reentered the frame, striking him across the face with a powerful backhand. Steve’s head snapped to the side and he slumped, disoriented in his seat.

“I know you won’t, Steven,” she said quietly. “It’s been days, and I know you won’t. You’re strong.” She traced her fingers across his shoulders, and he flinched at her touch. “I’ve killed your comrades. Some begged, Steven. When I peeled their skin from their backs, skinned them like the animals they are, they begged for death.” Steve eyed her with simmering rage as she spoke. Madame Hydra laughed and stroked his hair back gently. “Maybe it would comfort you to know that some of them live on as Hydra infected.” Steve shrugged from her touch in disgust and the footage skipped, missing a few frames. 

Natasha chanced a look at Steve, but he never tore his gaze from the wall, eyes glowing in the bright light of the projector. When the footage recovered, Madame Hydra gripped Steve’s face painfully. He must’ve said something, tried to resist in some way. “You are something different, Steven, something truly special.” There was something in her tone… Admiration? That set Natasha on edge. 

Standing totally still, Steve still watched, unmoving. Did he recognize himself? Did he understand what he was watching? Natasha searched the room again, tightening her grip on her axes. She couldn’t detect any movement in the darkness, but this felt like a trap. “You never begged,” Madame Hydra’s voice echoed. The footage skipped and blurred. The old machine sputtered and struggled to keep up with the film wending its way through the reels. 

For a moment, the sound cut out. Blown wide on the wall, Mme Hydra looked at the camera, eyes gleaming like an animal. Steve eyed her warily before she dug her finger into an old wound on his chest, sinking her digit in to her knuckle and twisting as he cried out in pain. “Beg for me now, Steven,” she said, delighting in his suffering. 

But he never did. She smiled widely, anger tinging her expression. Madame Hydra smiled and pulled him in and kissed him. Steve struggled, his eyes narrowing in displeasure. He flinched when she bit his lip and drew blood. She laughed at his expression, and it reverberated through the room around them, cruel and sadistic. It sent a shiver up Natasha’s spine. Madame Hydra pulled his head back by his hair and bit her own lip, sharp teeth easily cutting her flesh. Steve struggled, chest heaving and eyes wild as he watched her in horrified anticipation. In the old footage Natasha could see the bob of his exposed throat as he swallowed. Madame Hydra let blood well and spread like lipstick with a gleeful smile before she pulled Steve in for another kiss. Natasha bristled at the sight, noting how Madame Hydra dug into his ribs when he resisted, drawing pained cries from him as she forced him to reciprocate. 

When she was satisfied, Madame Hydra planted a bloody kiss on his temple with a chuckle. In the footage, Steve stared blankly at the camera, mouth and chin stained black with blood in the old footage as he panted in his seat. It was difficult to watch the hope drain from him, but Natasha felt it was her duty to watch. These were the final moments of a great and beloved hunter and she wasn’t about to look away. Madame Hydra then bent down and sank her teeth into his neck and Steve’s eyes fluttered shut in resignation. But the footage skipped and the audio scratched and struggled as the camera was knocked and recorded at a strange angle. There were sounds of struggle and shouting. Gunshots rang out and Madame Hydra’s inhuman screech tested the limit of the old recording. There were shouts recorded, people screaming with rage and desperation that became louder as they moved closer to the camera. “Steve!” an English woman shouted in the grainy audio. Natasha recognized Carter as she ran into frame. It sounded like she had brought the cavalry with her. “Get him untied!” she barked, attending to the blood gushing from his neck. It could take up to thirty minutes for someone to turn, but Steve was already shivering, his skin shining in the old footage as the infection burned quickly through his weakened body. He flinched as they moved him, the slightest touch appeared painful.

“Peg—” he gasped, trying to catch her attention as she barked orders. His veins were darkening in the black and white of the video. “Peg—” 

“Just try and rest, Steve.”

Natasha had never imagined Carter would sound so soft. So scared. 

But Steve gave a strangled cry, his muscles seizing as the infection began to take hold. He jerked, stiffening painfully and Carter did her best to hold him still. When he came out of it, he met her gaze confusedly. “I’m infected.” he said, looking into her eyes. He was bright with fear. “Peggy… ” 

Carter froze, her expression hidden from the camera. “You gotta kill me,” he said, breaths coming raggedly. “Peggy, you have to kill me.” But she never replied. She pulled Steve into her and smoothed his hair back. 

“It’s all right, Steve,” she said quietly and he shuddered and seized again. Carter caught the attention of another hunter just out of frame.

“Sedate him,” she said quietly, “restrain him and sedate him. We’re not leaving him.” 

“But—” a voice protested, “It could take days to get back— he’ll be long gone by then.” 

“I don’t care,” she breathed, “Get him onto the transport truck. Mr. Stark thinks he may be onto something and we’re not losing Steve. We’ve lost too much already. Not him.”

Another hunter ran into frame, panicked. “The Howling Commandos are loose— they’re slaughtering our troops, ma’am.”

Steve writhed in her grip, the black veins spreading around his eyes. He wept blood. “Peggy, please…” he sounded so desperate. But she ignored him and grabbed a syrette of morphine from someone out of frame and stuck it into him. It didn’t take long before his eyes glazed over as the drug dulled his senses. “No…” he begged, “please…” 

Carter stuck him with another syrette before gesturing to another hunter out of frame. They restrained him and began to move him. 

“Fall back!” she cried before the film reached the end of its reel and stopped. 

It felt like the air had been sucked from the room. A terrible silence enveloped them as they watched the blank wall. Tentatively, Natasha gauged Steve’s reaction. She felt as though she had seen something incredibly private. Steve looked at her, eyes catching the light of the projector and illuminating. It took everything in Natasha not to run, her instincts screamed that he was a predator and a chill ran through her. There was an awful moment of silence between them. “Was that...me?” he asked quietly. Natasha nodded slowly. He looked back at the empty wall and licked his lips, clearly formulating a question. 

“Why would she show me this? That… I was like you. I used to be human,” Steve said, turning to her. From across the room, Natasha watched him, her green eyes meeting his silver ones. He seemed distraught, clearly upset with this knowledge. She had told him once before, but he didn’t remember that now. Before she could answer, he stepped toward her a little, expression quizzical. 

“Did you know me then?” he said, looking at the white light cast on the wall before turning back to her. “When I…” He couldn’t seem to finish his thought, turning his gaze back to the stark white light of the projector. 

Natasha’s stomach dropped as his words settled on her. She didn’t want to be the one to tell him this. He had never brought it up before, but he likely didn’t know back then either. He had no idea how much time had passed. He didn’t know how old he was. Natasha had assumed that he had some idea, some understanding. But why would he? How would he keep track of time when it slipped away from him like smoke through his fingers? 

“No, Steve,” she said, “that was a long time ago.”

His face became tense as he turned to face her. “How long?” 

Natasha exhaled slowly and shifted on her feet. “About seventy-five years ago,” she said softly. 

A pained expression flickered across his face and he turned away. Natasha took the opportunity to back up slightly, scanning the room again. He was clearly bothered by what he saw and wasn’t concentrating on anything else at the moment. Steve suddenly lashed out, destroying the old projector with his fist. The bulbs shattered, plunging the room into shadows as pieces of the old machine scattered across the room. Natasha jumped and nearly threw her axe at his face in reflex. Panting angrily, Steve looked down at the debris and then at his hand. Metal pieces stuck into his skin like a pincushion, and he laughed, filling the room with the dull echoing sound. 

“That long, huh?” he said flatly. 

She had never seen him like this before. Not even when they had first met. He was unfeeling then, totally apathetic, save for his sense of curiosity. In his semi cured state, while he did lash out before, he had never shown signs of wrestling with himself like this, never showed what he felt about himself. He seemed to question everything that he was. It frightened her. 

“Steve—” she began, but he cut her off. 

“Why can’t I remember that?” he asked, whirling to face her, “Why can’t I remember any of it? Seventy-five years of what?” He sounded angry, bitter. “There’s _ nothing_.” 

He seemed anguished, grieving a life that he couldn’t remember. Natasha chanced it and strode toward him, placing her axes in the holsters at her thighs. He eyed her suspiciously as she took his injured hand to examine it. He was tense under her touch and stood motionless as she tenderly took his hand. 

“Can I?” she asked gently, looking at the pieces stuck in his palm. He gave her a curt nod and she worked the metal from his hand. Another question seemed to formulate in his mind as he watched her work. 

Natasha didn’t know what to say to offer him any sort of reassurance. She had no idea what he must be feeling. A series of revelations like that would’ve sent her spiralling. To not only learn that Madame Hydra was the one who had turned him, but to discover that he had lived like this for seventy-five years… It must be horrifying. The shrapnel clinked dully as Natasha pulled from Steve’s skin and dropped it on the floor.

“You told me once that this infection, this drive for blood— it makes you forget. That you lost little pieces of yourself when you drink. It’s why you don’t remember anything from the last seventy-five years.” 

Steve considered her carefully, brow furrowing at his words being echoed back to him. He seemed astonished that she had an answer for him. That she could put into words what he had been feeling. Natasha pulled another piece of metal from his hand and dropped it to the floor. She didn’t know any more than he did what he had done, though she could imagine. She would keep those thoughts to herself. 

“Why would I tell you that?” he asked quietly, watching her hands gently turn his palm over to work the shrapnel from his skin. 

Natasha could feel the heat of colour creep into her cheeks, and kept her focus on pulling the metal from his flesh to avoid his gaze. It seemed so long ago now. A lifetime had passed since those moments in the Shield cell block. She had thought he had told her because she had broken him, forced a confession from him. Now she wasn’t so sure. 

“I don’t know, Steve,” she said softly, his hand still gently clasped between hers. 

Steve turned his hand in her grasp, fingers curling around her palm. The contact made Natasha look up at him in surprise. He was insistent, trying to piece this all together. 

“Don’t you?” he asked, “You don’t know why I’d be so open with you?” 

Natasha swallowed, remembering the way he looked at her in the Shield lab. He had asked her to define what he meant to her then, just as he did now. Natasha shifted uncomfortably in his grasp, withdrawing her hand. It scared her then, and it still scared her now that she felt something deep within her, a terrible, nagging seed planting itself in her heart. She couldn’t afford to give it space to grow. 

“We need to get moving,” she said, wishing she could mask the uncertainty in her voice. Steve looked at her questioningly, reading her expression with a sense of frustrated curiosity. He seemed to be struggling to remember her, dancing around something familiar about her that he couldn’t place. She could tell that he had so many questions for her, so many fragments to try and make sense of. Natasha sighed and put on a little smile, squeezing his hand softly. 

“Now isn’t the time for this, Steve. We can talk about this if… When… we get out of here,” she offered. Steve’s expression remained tight, but he seemed to relax a little, to trust her a little bit more, and she slipped her hand from his. 

It had been a foolish risk to try and comfort him. To treat him like a partner, and she knew that. She let her guard down. From behind Steve, the doors burst open and Sitwell and Rumlow, eyes bleeding black, mouths stretched in a feral snarl, charged into the room with an inhuman shriek. Steve barely had time to face them before he was tackled to the floor. 

Natasha shook off the initial shock, withdrawing her axes as she looked for an opening in the tangle of claws and teeth. But she didn’t get the chance to jump in before she was seized and dragged roughly through a set of doors behind her and thrown to the floor. Natasha cried out in surprise as she hit the concrete. In the dim lighting she scrambled to stand, facing her attacker. She could only glimpse Madame Hydra in the gloom before she was kicked in the solar plexus, and the air was forced from her lungs. 

Natasha wheezed, doubled over on her knees as Madame Hydra laughed, tracing her claws down her spine. She could barely catch her breath enough to speak, her traumatized muscles refusing to let her lungs expand. Madame Hydra grabbed her and pulled her in close. In her haze of adrenaline, Natasha focused sharply on the infected woman’s teeth as they glistened in the low lighting. Madame Hydra’s throat was still bloody and raw where she had slashed it. Her dress had been ruined by the dark blood as it spilled and stained her decolletage. Somehow, the sight of it amused Natasha, and she smirked between gasps. Madame Hydra seethed and made to bite Natasha’s throat out, but she was knocked from her feet when Sitwell was thrown through the doors. 

Natasha was trapped in a dervish of tangled limbs and teeth. She pulled herself free from the dogpile and dove through the doors into the other room. Crawling and scrambling to her feet, Natasha wildly searched for Steve. He grappled with Rumlow in the flickering light of the broken projector, eyes glinting as he threw him over his hip to the floor. Steve spotted her, panting and scrambling to her feet before he turned his gaze to Rumlow. She couldn’t call out to him, lips opening and closing wordlessly as she struggled to control her breathing. 

Steve’s arm was mangled where Sitwell must’ve sunk his teeth into him. It hung limply at his side, skin popped open to reveal his shredded muscles and tendons. Rumlow charged him and he snapped his leg out in a brutal kick. Natasha heard Rumlow’s jaw shatter with a hollow snap as he twisted through the air and crashed to the ground in a heap. Natasha scrambled forward, making it back to Steve. Panting, she gave him a quick nudge with her shoulder and he looked down at her with a tense expression. 

Rumlow recovered, slowly pushing himself back to his feet with a snarl as he charged Steve, jawbone straining against the skin of his face at an unnatural angle. Steve stepped in front of Natasha; she finally felt like she could catch her breath and readjusted her grip on her axes in anticipation. From the doors Natasha had escaped from Sitwell burst into the room again, claws extended forward in a wild lunge as he charged her. Steve snapped his attention to the new threat, hesitating as he tried to decide how best to defend Natasha, but she brought her axe high overhead and hurled it across the room, burying it deep into Sitwell’s head. He fell backward with a strangled howl, and she sprinted forward to finish him off. 

Natasha was too consumed with killing Sitwell to see the wide, savage smile on Steve’s face as he turned his attention back to Rumlow. She skidded over and planted her boot on Sitwell’s shoulder as he writhed and squirmed on the floor, blood oozing from the split in his skull. Natasha grasped the handle, wedging the axe free with some effort. Sitwell sat up dazedly, blood gushing from the cleave, and Natasha brought the axe down again, breaking bone and splitting his skull wide open. Sitwell twitched oddly, slumping down to the floor with a gurgle. Without hesitation, Natsha drew her knife from its sheath and buried it into his heart with a cry. Sitwell gasped, blood gurgling and bubbling from his lips. He finally lay still. 

Behind her, Steve still wrestled with Rumlow, prying him away by his hair as he snapped viciously, trying to tear out Steve’s throat. Natasha quickly withdrew her axe and turned to help, but Madame Hydra pounced from the darkness, and pinned her to the floor. Natasha writhed, panicked, as the infected woman looked down at her in frenzied rage. Madame Hydra’s braided hair was coming loose and strands of her raven hair fell across her face, tickling Natasha’s nose. Before Natasha could counter, Madame Hydra pinned her arms beneath her knees and wrapped her hands around Natasha’s neck. She knew this was it. Madame Hydra only had to squeeze to crush her windpipe, but she didn’t. Instead, Madame Hydra choked her, hands squeezing the breath from her. 

Natasha thrashed, legs kicking wildly. She could feel the blood rush to her face, her mouth opened, desperately she gasped for breath, but no air rushed in. Distantly Natasha could hear Steve struggle, but the room swirled and her eyes fluttered as black spots crept into her vision. Natasha’s legs began to still as the fight went out of her. The last thing she would see would be Madame Hydra’s wicked, bloody smile as she choked the life from her. 

The pressure suddenly let up and Natasha drew a ragged, painful breath, blearily coughing as she sprawled on the floor. She had no idea what was going on, but felt herself be dragged into the next room. She could focus just barely on Madame Hydra’s pointed teeth as she was suddenly dangling from her grasp. Natasha squirmed to get her footing, but there was nothing below her. Panicked, she searched, her feet kicked out, looking for something solid. Her toes scraped and clutched at the ledge, but her heels dipped dangerously into the nothingness below. Madame Hydra waited just long enough for Natasha to realize she was the only thing keeping her up before she released her with a smile, and she fell into the pit below. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright my dudes! It's back to work for me, so it'll be back to weekly updates again. If I have time I'll see about posting two chapters per week. Expect the next update coming next Friday/Saturday/Sunday depending on how much I've got going on! 
> 
> In the mean time, enjoy and start in on those New Years goals (you know the ones).


	14. Crucible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow sorry for making ya'll wait lol. That was a busy week for me! Next chapter will be up next Friday/Saturday/Sunday as usual.

Dazed, Natasha stared up at Madame Hydra's cruel face from the flat of her back. There was a strange dreaminess to it, like this wasn’t quite real. Her ears buzzed, black dots floated in the periphery of her vision. Natasha blinked and slowly moved her head. Beneath her fingers she felt dirt, and her mind hyper focused on this bizarre sensation. The concrete had been broken and stripped from the floor above her and a hole was dug into the earth below. As she came back to awareness, she tried to focus. She was in danger, she reasoned as she struggled to think. Madame Hydra could’ve killed her, but she threw her here instead… 

Natasha moaned weakly, feeling like she was drifting. From above her there was a shout and the sounds of struggle. Steve raced past Madame Hydra and jumped down to Natasha’s side. Madame Hydra’s smile quickly turned into a twisted, hateful expression as she watched him. 

Natasha was barely aware of Steve looming over her, bloodied arm still hanging limply at his side. His flesh was shredded where Rumlow must’ve caught him and for a moment all she could see was the creamy white fascia and the vibrant crimson of the musculature underneath. Her stomach turned. A sudden movement from above her attracted her attention. Madame Hydra and Rumlow leapt down into the pit. It was all Natasha could do to push herself from the centre of the room and up against the wall, fingers weakly finding the handle of her dropped axe as she scooted across the floor. 

From behind Steve, Madame Hydra landed and rushed him. He turned and swiftly elbowed her in the face, smashing her delicate nose in. When he scrambled to his feet, Rumlow pounced, leaping for Natasha, but Steve caught his leg, sinking his claws into his flesh and popping the tendons behind his knee. Rumlow snapped viciously at Natasha with single-minded purpose, seemingly uncaring of the damage Steve did. His lower jaw opened unnaturally wide where it had been dislocated as he lunged desperately for her. Natasha blinked hard, trying to cut through the haze of shock she raised her blade woozily. All she could see were his teeth, pointed and bloody, snapping at her. Spittle flew from his lips as he screeched and shrieked. She was snapped from her strange trance when she heard Steve’s strangled cry. 

Taking advantage of his useless arm, and his desperate hold on Rumlow, Madame Hydra lunged at him and caught his neck in her teeth. Madame Hydra held him in a tight embrace, forcing Steve to look up slightly as she sank her teeth further into his flesh. He grunted, his body moving with Rumlow’s thrashing, causing Madame Hydra’s teeth to shred the delicate skin of his throat as she held him. Natasha’s lips parted and her brain struggled to keep up with what was happening. She blinked, tightening her grip on her axe, her whole body feeling like it was falling apart. Making eye contact with Natasha over Steve’s shoulder, Madame Hydra bit out his throat. 

Natasha was vaguely aware that she screamed his name in horror, her heart pounding in her temples. Steve gave a hollow gurgle as he gasped for breath and sank to his knees. For a moment she was terrified that he was dead. Her scrambled brain informed her that it was a wound that would’ve killed a normal man. That she would watch him bleed out and choke in the dirt. But Steve rasped, his windpipe giving a strained whistle as he struggled for breath, choking on his own blood. He still held Rumlow by his leg, as he snapped and lunged at Natasha. 

Madame Hydra stood above him, idly wiping Steve’s blood from her chin and throat. She just ended up smearing it further across her face. With an angry smile, she took Steve by his hair and turned him look at Natasha. Bending in close, she pressed her lips against his ear. 

“Did you like that film I showed you?” she purred as he choked and wheezed, “I wanted you to remember our bond. It was my blood that turned you. My blood that made you pure. That girl is nothing. She is keeping you weak and I want you to watch her die. I need you to understand that she has no place with you.”

Madame Hydra released him and traced her fingers down his arm as he struggled to hold on to Rumlow, who strained forward, reaching for Natasha and nearly dragging Steve with him. Natasha met Steve’s gaze— he looked scared, desperate. It was enough to cut through the shock of her injuries. Her pulse pounding in her ears, Natasha struggled to her knees, gripping her axe tightly. 

Madame Hydra laughed, and turned to look at Natasha. “Beg for me, Steven,” she whispered. 

But he couldn’t speak, he only made soft choking sounds, blood bubbling from his lips as he watched Natasha in horror. Madame Hydra smiled and gripped him tightly over his elbow. With a tinkling laugh, she snapped his joint backward. Steve let out a strangled cry and released Rumlow. 

Like a dog set loose for a hunt, Rumlow bolted for Natasha, tackling her to the floor. She was barely aware of the impact. Everything hurt already, but when his knee crushed against her ribs she gasped, feeling them creak under the pressure. Trying to focus on him through the haze of fear, Natasha wedged her arm and axe handle between them, barely keeping Rumlow from ripping into her throat. 

His teeth snapped viciously as he lunged at her, pressing her further into the wet earth. Spittle and the dark infected blood dripped onto her cheek and Natasha turned her face away and gritted her teeth. Planting her boot firmly on the floor, she leveraged herself enough to roll him beneath her. With a grunt, she forced her axe handle into his mouth and he howled, teeth gnashing at the leather and metal as he writhed beneath her. Natasha couldn’t get a good enough position before he brought his fingers up and crushed her arms in his grip. She screamed, but held firm, feeling her muscles ache and seize in his powerful grasp. 

Rumlow finally bucked her from him and she flew backward, tumbling into the centre of the room. Natasha felt the impact reverberate through her bones, teeth clacking together loudly. She couldn’t afford to be dazed. Any time wasted would be the end of her. He was on her in an instant, but she kept the axe blade between them as they tangled in the dirt. As if on autopilot, she withdrew her knife from its holster as Rumlow struggled on top of her. His breath was cold on her face. She swung the knife up and sunk it deep into his side. He howled, but was undeterred, leaning in to try and rip her apart. Natasha stabbed him again and again, hand becoming slick with his blood until he finally contorted in pain. She had got him in the kidney. 

She took the second of distraction to plunge the blade between his ribs, puncturing his lung. Rumlow gurgled, blood bubbling at the corner of his lips as she pulled the knife out and squirmed from under him. Natasha backpedaled and Rumlow looked up at her with frenzied rage, grabbing at her legs as she moved away. With an enraged cry, Natasha shook his grasp from her and snapped her boot up to crush his nose into his face. He howled and raced for her, but she quickly thrust the blade up through his chin, pinning his mouth shut. Rumlow howled and Natasha scrambled to her feet, gripping her axe with both hands. Raising her axe high overhead, she moved to finish the job when she was stopped by a firm grip on her wrist. 

Madame Hydra held her fast, face hateful as she looked down on Rumlow with disgust, her knife still pinning his jaw shut. Before Natasha had a chance to react, she was thrown across the room to where Steve lay, landing on him roughly. He cried out weakly and she scrambled for a second, trying to get her bearings as she did her best not to hurt Steve. Natasha rolled to her knees, bringing her knife up to attack, but Madame Hydra had disappeared. 

“You think you are saving him?” her voice echoed from above them, “He is saved. I made him perfect.” 

Rumlow clawed uselessly at the blade under his chin, unable to figure out how to dislodge it in his infected state. Natasha chanced it and inspected Steve, rasping on his side in the dirt where Madame Hydra had left him. He looked up at her dazedly, and Natasha smoothed his hair back with shaking fingers. She still struggled to comprehend this. He should be dead, and she nearly cried in relief to see that he wasn't. He was a mess— his throat was torn open, the bones in his arm pushed through his skin at jagged, unnatural angles, his other arm was slashed, along with his chest and back. Natasha’s lip trembled. He had been her shield in all of this, protecting her with his body. She swiped some of the blood and dirt from his cheek with her thumb and his eyes fluttered a little at the contact. His injuries looked to be healing a little— the bleeding had slowed and the skin on his throat looked to be mending. 

“You deserve to die for what you did to Steven,” Madame Hydra continued, snapping Natasha’s attention to the room above her. She slipped her hand from Steve and gripped her weapon tightly. “You inflicted your disgusting humanity on him, tried to make him like you.” 

From the room in front of her, Rumlow squirmed, finally opening his jaw wide enough to dislodge the knife from the roof of his mouth. She gritted her teeth, preparing for the worst, but was startled when another body was dumped unceremoniously into the pit. Natasha barely had time to register what was happening before Madame Hydra pounced on her from above, tackling her from Steve and pinning her to the floor. 

“This is your punishment, girl, for thinking you could take what is mine,” Madame Hydra spat, breath cool against her face. Natasha’s lips pulled into a snarl as she squirmed beneath the woman above her, but Madame Hydra just smiled and reached down and pressed her talon deep into Natasha’s cheek with a terrible, wide smile, cutting a two-inch gash into her face. Natasha squirmed and struggled uselessly, feeling the blood bead and then gush from the wound in hot streaks down to her hairline and into her ear. 

Satisfied, Madame Hydra left her to turn to Steve. She grabbed his arm, causing him to cry out weakly as she dragged him over to the wall. Natasha sat up furiously, watching as Madame Hydra leaned in to kiss Steve as if to prove that he was her possession, that she could do what she liked with him. Steve bared his teeth threateningly, twisting away from the infected woman. Madame Hydra’s cruel laugh sparked a terrible, burning hatred in Natasha. Furious, she withdrew and hurled her boot knife at Madame Hydra, and it sank deeply into her leg. Madame Hydra yelped and snarled, turning to face Natasha. For a brief moment, it looked as though she would stop toying with Natasha and kill her right then, but she was interrupted by a terrible cry from the other side of the pit. 

Remembering her purpose, Madame Hydra smiled harshly, gaze flitting back to Natasha, who never tore her eyes from her. 

“Goodbye, girl,” she purred, and then leapt from the pit to the ground above, before disappearing. 

Natasha withdrew her axe, turning to face the new threat as she swiped the blood gushing from the gash on her cheek. Rumlow staggered to his feet, mouth hanging open to accommodate the blade still pinned under his chin. Blackened, ruddy drool dripped from his mouth and silver eyes went wide when he caught the smell of her blood in the air. The body Madame Hydra had thrown into the pit with them writhed, shaking violently, like he was squirming in his skin. He tripped Rumlow as he advanced, sending him into the dirt with a growl. Two on one. They were terrible odds in Natasha’s condition and she readjusted her grip on her axe and prepared for a fight. If she could hold them off long enough, maybe Steve could recover enough to help. But whatever strength Natasha felt died when the infected man sat up and she had a good look at him. It was Clint. 

“Nat…” he moaned when he spotted her. He pushed himself upright, panting heavily. His veins were black with infection, dark blood ran from his eyes as he met her horrified gaze. From behind him, Rumlow lunged forward, but Clint threw himself in front of him. Rumlow tangled with him, slashing Clint’s face and chest. 

“Run!” Clint grunted, barely holding Rumlow back. 

Suppressing the metallic taste of fear rising in her throat, Natasha quickly looked for a way out. The walls of the pit were too high. There was nowhere for her to run to. She would have to face this. Natasha charged forward. Rumlow shredded Clint, threw him off of him, and lunged for Natasha. Anticipating his attack, she stopped him mid-charge with a two-handed swing of her axe. The impact reverberated through her wrists and up her arms as her swing fractured his jaw, split his handsome face open and sent him sprawling to the floor. Natasha charged him as he floundered, not giving him the chance to recover. Rumlow howled and she swung her axe down against the back of his neck with a furious cry. 

Blood painted her face and arm in small splatters. She didn’t let up, bringing her weapon down again until she felt bones break and tendons sever. She kept going until she felt his head drop at her feet. His body slumped lifeless after. Panting fiercely, Natasha went numb, hearing only the wild pounding of her heart in her ears and feeling the gash on her face pulse with the beat. Blood dripped in a steady stream down her face and onto her jacket. 

Movement to her right snapped Natasha’s attention to Clint. He stood, a frenzied look in his blackened eyes, face and chest mangled and bleeding. Still in fight mode, Natasha slashed at him in wide-eyed horror. She just missed him and Clint snarled and shoved her to the ground away from Rumlow. She scrambled back, terror rising in her. Clint didn’t recognise her. He snarled, baring his teeth in a vicious smile. His name died in her throat, and she could only manage panicked sobs instead. _ Not you,_ she pleaded, _ please, not you. _

She backed into where Steve recovered, still gasping for breath. She looked at him, terrified as Clint advanced. Steve’s eyes flitted to the open wound on her cheek, tracing the rivulet of blood as it streamed down her face and dripped from her chin. Fear prickled her scalp, making her tongue feel like cotton in her mouth. The wound on his throat had mostly closed, the tears in his flesh began to mend and stitch themselves back together. His arm was still broken, but he searched her, testing his mobility as he watched her, eyes flitting between her and Clint. 

In the split second where she had looked away, Clint lunged, trapping Natasha against the wall. He hovered, shaking above her. “Clint,” she pleaded, an edge of hysteria in her voice. “Clint, please.” 

As she struggled against him, a flicker of recognition cut through the crazed look on Clint’s face. He considered her for what seemed like an eternity, then with a look of awful realization, he loosened his grip on her. Slowly, he backed away, and Natasha legs buckled and she slid down the wall into the dirt. In a moment of clarity, he looked over at Steve, watching the two of them. 

“Steve,” he managed, panting heavily. Steve’s attention snapped to Clint, regarding him with interest. Clint convulsed, veins bulging against his skin as he sank to his knees in front of them. He struggled, groaning and placing his shaking hands against his temples. Natasha’s eyes welled with tears and she reached for her partner’s arm. The touch made him flinch and he pulled away, a pleading look on his face. “You can’t touch me. Okay? Don’t come near me,” he gasped. 

Natasha swallowed thickly, hating the feeling of helplessness that consumed her. 

“Remember what you promised.”

She went numb. Struggling to focus, Clint turned his attention back to Steve, looking him square in the eyes. “Promise... me,” he said through laboured breaths, “promise me you won’t hurt her… that you'll look out for her.” 

Steve glanced at Natasha, then back to Clint. He nodded and Clint smiled weakly. He looked strangely at peace. 

“Nat…” Clint said, turning to Natasha. “I want you to do it.” 

She stared at him, hands curling into tight fists. 

“Please…” Clint said. “Please kill me.” 

Natasha stood shakily, looming over Clint as he knelt in front of her. She gripped her axe tightly and brought it high overhead. Clint closed his eyes. Her mind raced and she hesitated, her whole body seemed to vibrate with anguish. If there was a chance. If there was a chance for a cure… Natasha exhaled sharply, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over. What the hell was all this for if she couldn't save the people she cared about? 

Clint’s eyes fluttered open and he saw the stormy expression on her face and faltered, stricken with the awful sense that she wouldn’t do it. She wouldn’t end him. Horrified, he grabbed at her leg. 

“_Please,” _ he begged, "_Please." _

The anguish in his voice settled on Natasha like a weight, but she didn't have any more time to decide. If she had known this was the last time she would see him, she would’ve said something, done something differently. Instead Clint writhed and lost himself. He sunk his claws into Natasha’s leg where he held her. She cried out in pain and Steve lunged at him, prying his fingers from her flesh. 

Natasha lost her footing and tumbled to the dirt. She sobbed, suddenly feeling so exhausted. She twisted and slowly pushed herself to her knees. Clint’s snarls broke through the haze and she whirled to find Steve straddling him and gripping his throat tightly. His fingers threatened to crush his windpipe and Natasha felt herself break from the fog of shock as anger consumed her. 

“No!” Her desperate cry snapped Steve's attention to her. He looked her up and down, taking in her wild appearance. 

“He wanted this,” Steve whispered hoarsely. His vocal chords were still damaged from his injury and he barely held Clint down, his arms still weak and broken. 

Natasha strode toward them. “I don’t care.” 

Steve looked at her coolly, then struck Clint hard on the jaw, knocking him unconscious. She was a coward. She knew she was a hateful, traitorous coward. But she could fix this. She could save him.

Steve sat back for a moment before inhaling sharply and resetting the snapped bones in his arm with a grunt. He flexed his other arm, clenching and unclenching his fist. His skin had mostly healed, but the muscles beneath still must’ve been recovering, because he winced in pain and leaned back to rest. Natasha felt shock creep up on her and she forced herself to keep busy, to keep going. She could feel her body fatiguing, weariness and exhaustion threatening to set in. She knelt next to Steve and swiped the blood from her cheek in frustration. Grunting furiously, she fumbled for the tiny medkit stored inside her jacket with clumsy fingers, struggling with the zippers. 

“Shit!” she shouted when she couldn’t work up the dexterity to pull it free. 

Steve looked at her warily, taking rattling breaths before turning and spitting blood into the dirt. They were both in rough shape, but he looked at her with such worry and unease that she wondered what she must look like to earn such concern. But she couldn’t let herself slow down, she was afraid of what might come pouring out of her. Crawling closer to him, she looked at him sharply, feeling like her eyes were too wide. 

“You can stop the bleeding,” she said. “Then I’m going to kill that bitch.” 

Steve tensed, eyes flicking to her wound as he wiped his mouth. He seemed like he might protest, but Natasha wouldn’t hear it. She moved closer, getting right in his face. 

“Do it,” she demanded. 

She was numb as Steve reached up and cupped her face with uncertainty. He was hesitant, but she didn’t look at him, too consumed by the knot of anger inside her. His breath on her forehead barely registered. She looked at Clint, bloody and unconscious on the floor, and flooded with hatred. Hatred for what Madame Hydra did to him, what she did to Steve... But hiding beneath that was self loathing. 

Natasha wouldn’t let herself go there, not now. Shaking with rage, she didn’t notice how carefully Steve touched her, or the way he reverently swept the blood from her cheek with his thumb. Natasha clenched and unclenched her hands around the handle of her axe as Steve leaned in hesitantly, lips parted and paused just above the cut on her face as if to ask permission. But she wouldn’t look at him. Natasha didn’t feel the brush of Steve’s lips against her skin, or the sweep of his tongue over her wound. She only thought of killing, feeling a detached sense of impatience with Steve’s slow pace. She couldn’t feel the way he kissed and licked at the blood on her cheek. 

Finally he pulled away, licking any traces of her blood from his lips. His face was inscrutable, he seemed almost shy about the intimacy of what he had just done. The memory of their growing bond was gone; to him, this was the first time he had touched her like this. Briefly Natasha felt a pang of regret for forcing his hand like that, but she quickly suppressed it and moved away. She stood brusquely and wiped her bloodied blade against her pants. Taking one last hardened glance at Clint, she turned and didn’t look back. She would be back for him. Either to cure him or to kill him. 

"Let's go." Her voice sounded distant, alien. 

Coming down from the adrenaline, Natasha could feel her body protest when she moved. But she willed herself to stay in the moment, to not let herself move from her mindset. She had a single purpose now and she needed to focus. She scanned the ledges around her, looking for an edge, something to grab on to. The walls were about eight and a half feet of sheer, unscalable earth. With a frustrated sigh, Natasha turned to Steve expectantly. He still looked at her with a mix of concern and uncertainty, clearly unsure of how to read her. His look of unfamiliarity nearly broke her, and she swallowed thickly. 

“Boost me up,” she ordered, unable to hide the edge of frustration in her tone. 

Steve tilted his head to the side a little and complied, striding over and cupping his hands for her to step into. Natasha placed her foot into his hold and held his shoulders for support. He raised her up and she grabbed at the ledge, hauling herself over. 

Natasha rolled to her feet, paced from the pit, and burst through the double doors, furiously searching for the infected woman. She felt like she floated from room to room, jaw clenched unbearably tight. Steve shadowed her, radiating a concerned energy as he stayed close behind. While Natasha flagged, he only grew stronger, each moment restoring him back to health. Natasha’s search yielded nothing, frustrated she let out an angry roar and banged her axe against the wall. It sent echoing clangs down the empty halls. 

“I’m still here, you bitch!” she screamed, “Come kill me yourself this time!” 

Steve looked around nervously, staying on high alert as Natasha spiralled. They were in what looked to be the lab wing. The lights were unbroken here, flickering dimly overhead. Natasha barreled forward, fearing that she may not find Madame Hydra at all. That she would leave this place having lost almost everything. That Clint would remain here, infected and alone, because she didn’t have the courage to kill him. 

Natasha was so consumed by her hatred, she didn’t see Madame Hydra until it was too late. She was ambushed and pulled into a room and thrown to the floor. Steve rushed after her, but Natasha turned to see Madame Hydra bar the door behind them with a thick metal bar, locking Steve out. Natasha hauled herself up, her muscles screaming at her to rest. From outside, Steve shouted and crashed against the doors, shaking the barricade. Madame Hydra turned to face Natasha, her expression tight with murderous hatred. Her hair was disheveled and matted in places, soaked with blood. Her once beautiful satin gown was in tatters. 

“Cockroach,” she spat, “You won’t die.” 

Natasha smiled harshly, anticipating her next attack. The doors shook behind them as Steve tried to break in. Eyeing her surroundings, Natasha noted the thick, metal drawers, the embalming fluids marked with flammable symbols, the drains in the tiled floor. This was an experimentation room. A morgue. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Madame Hydra sneered, “None of this will matter. You think It’s just me? You think there aren’t more of us? We are Hydra. Cut off one head, another takes its place.” 

Natasha gripped her blade, eyeing the infected woman hatefully. “Then I’ll start with yours,” she said. 

Madame Hydra laughed at that, a full belly laugh. All artifice was gone and Natasha saw the truest version of her. She had the sense that she was always cruel, always like this— even as a human. She smiled at Natasha almost endearingly, like she was a pet who had performed a trick. “I can see why he likes you,” she said, “You’re funny. A funny little human living her funny little life.” 

Madame Hydra came at her like a wraith, full of fury and murderous hatred. Natasha returned the look in kind, feeling like the anger might splinter her apart. She had never felt such burning hatred, not since her home was razed and her friends and family murdered. Natasha swung her axe up and Madame Hydra dodged back as the blade sliced through her hair. With a cry, Natasha lunged, swinging her axe down and slashing the other woman’s stomach. Madame Hydra shrieked and pulled away. Not giving her a chance to recover, Natasha swung the axe down again, but Madame Hydra caught it, pulling herself up close. Natasha met her shining, silver eyes, her face twisted in a hateful smile, lips stretched over rows of pointed, bloody teeth.

Holding Natasha in place, she leaned in close and withdrew the boot knife Natasha had thrown at her, tracing her jawline with it. She had taken it with her, saved it for this. 

“I’ll carve you up with your own blade,” she hissed, “I’ll play until no one would even recognize you. I’ll flay your skin, take pieces from you until you won’t even recognize yourself. Then I’ll let them have you. I’ll let Steven tear you to pieces. I’ll let your little friend have whatever’s left.” 

Natasha felt her mouth twist into a wolfish grin. “Fucking try it, bitch,” she spat. She reeled back and headbutted Madame Hydra, smashing her nose in. It hadn’t quite healed from Steve breaking it earlier and Natasha felt the crunch of cartilage, the jigsaw of bone as she shattered it again. Madame Hydra howled and dropped the boot knife, head reeling back as blood gushed from her nose. She lunged at Natasha, twisting her arm tightly behind her back. In the commotion Madame Hydra wrested Natasha’s axe from her, sending it clattering to the floor. 

“I’ll let you in on a little secret before I kill you, human,” she breathed, “In a matter of weeks Hydra will scrub you hunters from the Earth like the stain that you are.” 

Goosebumps raced across Natasha’s flesh at Madame Hydra’s threat. Her words sank into her, giving her a deep sense of unease. She could feel her face draw taut, see the glee on Madame Hydra’s face as she watched her puzzle over her words. “Do you understand me, girl?” she leaned in, “We know where your bases are, we know that you have been testing a cure.” 

Natasha searched her, trying to find the lie in her words. She swallowed, her heart leaping into her throat. “Does this shock you?” Madame Hydra smiled, “did you not think it was odd that there were no horde infected here? They have joined the command of other Old Ones who are preparing to move as we speak. We have eyes everywhere, humans at our disposal, begging to join us. We know how thinly spread your supplies are. We have been waiting so very patiently. Your time has come.” 

Natasha swallowed. Feeling the seconds of her life tick down. If she could keep her talking, she could prolong her life a few minutes. “No…” she said quietly, feeding Madame Hydra’s sadistic glee, “You can’t know all of our defenses. You’ll have to destroy us in one go.” 

Madame Hydra’s eyes flicked Natasha up and down, a slow smile spreading across her face. 

“And we will,” she promised, “Soon Shield will be no more.” 

Natasha’s eyes flashed with anger, refusing to believe her. 

“You remind me so much of him,” she said softly, her voice laced with that same reverent tone she had in the film when she tortured Steve. “He was afraid then, too. But he never let it show. He was so defiant.” She skimmed her taloned finger along Natasha’s cheek and she shrugged it away in disgust. 

“We will take him,” Madame Hydra promised, eyes flitting back to the rattling doors. Steve threw himself against them, bending the beam barricading him out. Sensing she was running out of time, Madame Hydra turned her attention back to Natasha. “I’ve already told Hydra all about Steven. An infected, an Old One, who walks in the sunlight.” 

That made Natasha’s blood run cold. Seeing hope fade from Natasha, Madame Hydra smiled wickedly and moved to strike. But Natasha wasn’t ready to give up yet. Anticipating Madame Hydra’s lunge forward, she used the other woman’s momentum to throw them both into the counter, crashing through the supplies and dousing them both in the flammable liquid. Madame Hydra hovered over her, angry that she still fought. But Natasha was cornered. She had only managed to buy herself a few paltry minutes. This was it. 

Madame Hydra grinned, baring her teeth in a feral smile, before opening her jaw wide to tear out her throat. Thinking fast, Natasha fumbled and wriggled her arm free, withdrawing a flare from her pants pocket. Natasha struck the flare and Madame Hydra eyed it warily. If Natasha was going to die, then so was she. There was a crash from behind them, but Natasha didn’t care. 

“You wouldn’t,” Madame Hydra reasoned. 

But Natasha was beyond reason. She didn’t mind. As long as she took Madame Hydra with her. She wanted nothing more than to scrub her from the face of the Earth. She moved to set them both alight when a sudden grasp on her arm made her look over angrily. Steve held her fast, a horrified expression on his face. Natasha faltered, the flare still hissing and sputtering in her grasp. Could she really leave him like that again? Abandon him to satisfy her desire for revenge? And Clint… her death wouldn't be worth a damn if he stayed infected. If he lived a half remembered, violent, lonely existence as Steve did. 

Natasha went cold. Madame Hydra took advantage of her lapse in resolve to slash her claws into Steve’s shoulder, narrowly missing his neck. Before she could recover, Madame Hydra dragged Natasha to her feet, jerked the flare from her, snaked her arms around her and pinned her in her iron grasp. She could feel her cool breath against her cheek as Madame Hydra panted against her. 

“Steven, I see it now. I see why you think you like her,” she murmured, as she reached up and forcefully tore open Natasha’s jacket, exposing her neck. “Her fear smells wonderful. Would you mind if I had a taste?” she asked him before she licked Natasha’s throat. Natasha squirmed and Steve tensed, inching closer, drawing a predatory smile from Madame Hydra. He stopped, barely containing his frustration and anger. 

Natasha met Steve’s gaze and her eyes fluttered shut. She could feel her body flagging, muscles screaming and aching dully, pleading _ no more, no more… _

Knowing she couldn’t fight her way out of this, Natasha spoke slowly, feeling Madame Hydra’s teeth nick the skin of her neck when she moved. “If I’m…gone, Steve. What will you do?” 

He was quiet for a minute, clearly not having considered this as an option. His brow furrowed, unsure of how to answer. 

“Would you stay here, with her?” 

Natasha felt Madame Hydra’s hold on her tighten and a soft gasp escaped from her. “_Quiet,” _she hissed in her ear. Tension radiated from the other woman and Natasha sensed that she was afraid to know the answer. 

“No,” Steve rasped, eyeing Madame Hydra like she disgusted him, like she was nothing. 

Madame Hydra hissed, drawing Natasha painfully close to her. Sensing weakness, Natasha moved in. She laughed a little, leaning her head back to speak directly to her. “You spent all these years remembering him, hoping he would return—” the grip on her tightened and Natasha drew a pained little breath. She had to continue, she couldn’t stop now, “—and he doesn’t want you.” 

As soon as the words left her lips, Madame Hydra dug her hand into Natasha’s bruised ribs, the pressure threatening to crush them. White, blinding pain shot through Natasha and she cried out, jerking in the infected woman’s hold. “He will!” Madame Hydra shrieked, repeating it like a mantra. “He will!” Natasha screamed and went blank, feeling like she would pass out. 

But the instant that Madame Hydra took her eyes off of Steve, he was on her. He pried the infected woman’s grip from Natasha and threw her, screaming to the ground. Natasha slumped to the floor, shaking and holding her ribs. It felt like an eternity before she collected herself enough to move. Searching for her blade, she found it dropped on the tile by the door and, blearily, she crawled for it. 

Steve held Madame Hydra down, and she looked at him with such burning hatred. “Why, Steven?” She hissed.

He didn’t know how to answer, choosing to watch her instead. She clawed at his arms furiously. “Why do you waste your affections on such a weak, imperfect creature? Why can’t you understand what we are? You were made for me.” 

Steve glanced at Natasha, slowly picking herself up from the floor. “You aren’t her,” he said simply, “And you never could be.” 

With a furious cry, Madame Hydra bucked him from her, lunging at his throat. He pulled her hair back, keeping his face from hers. Her teeth snapped viciously, claws sinking into his arms as she tried to pull herself closer. Steve turned his head and bit her wrist, snapping the joint there and sending her into a maniacal frenzy. Madame Hydra pulled against his grasp, raven hair tearing from her head as she scalped herself to get at him. She inched closer to his throat, snapping and snarling, when Natasha rushed over and with the last of her strength, and kicked Madame Hydra in the face. The distraction was enough for Steve to roll her thrashing, writhing body from him and he pinned her beneath him. 

He gave Natasha a final glance, and she plunged the knife into Madame Hydra’s chest. She jerked, thrashing wildly and Natasha nearly let go of the blade. Steve reached out and clasped his hand over hers on the hilt. Together they drove the blade in until the guard stopped at her chest. Madame Hydra bucked and let out a feeble gasp and Steve pressed until her sternum caved and the blade sunk with finality deep into her heart. Madame Hydra finally lay still, staring up at the two of them with envious sorrow as she gurgled, blood bubbling up in streams from her lips. Her eyes became dull and her flesh faded to a sickly grey colour. 

Natasha panted and let go of the blade. For a moment, they were both deathly silent. She couldn't even look at him. She felt herself going cold, shaking from the effort of keeping herself together. It was over. But she still felt so empty. There was nothing to gain here, nothing to win. All she did was lose. Lose and lose and lose until she had nothing left. In a daze, she stood and stumbled out of the room and into the hall, feeling like she couldn’t breathe. A shaky sob broke from her like a gasp, cutting the silence wide open. Steve had a bitter look on his face as he watched her. 

“What were you thinking?” he said quietly, as he followed her down the hall, “You nearly burned yourself alive.” 

Natasha stood shakily, her knees barely supporting her weight. 

She wasn’t, that was the problem. Clint would kill her for trying to sacrifice herself like that. Hell, he’d kill her for leaving him. He’d kill her just because, now. He didn’t know her anymore and she hated herself for leaving him like that. 

“I had to kill her.” 

Steve frowned deeply, unsatisfied with her response. “And you were willing to die to make that happen?” 

“Yes. If it came to that. Yes…” 

Steve grabbed her urgently. “No.” Her eyes brimmed with tears, finally feeling herself break. “_ No _,” he repeated, smoothing her hair from her face. 

She couldn’t hold her tears back any longer, furiously swiping at them as they trailed down her cheeks. She had one job, she had promised Clint she wouldn’t let him turn. And now she had the nerve to cry? Steve stood silently behind her, gauging her reaction curiously. She felt herself coming apart, like threads of her were being pulled away, leaving her exposed. 

“It should have been me,” she whispered, pressing her palms against her eyes, “Why wasn’t it me?” 

Steve closed the distance between them, making her feel small. “Don’t say that,” he said quietly. 

Natasha gritted her teeth, her numbness fading into hot, black anger burning at her core. What did he understand about any of this? He shed the ones he lost like a snake sheds its skin. Steve had the luxury of never remembering, never carrying anything with him. The thought fuelled the anger inside her and she gave herself to it, letting it consume her. 

“He didn’t know I’d fucking leave him, Steve. Clint wouldn’t have left me, he would’ve killed me before he let me turn. Or was it better for him to become a monster like you?” she accused, disgust lacing her voice as she lashed out like a trapped animal. 

Steve blinked, face darkening. “Why do I even bother with you?” she snapped, throwing words at him. “I _ hate _ you, Steve. I wish you were gone. I wish Carter had done her job and killed you all those years ago.” 

His jaw clenched as he watched her through his lashes, unmoving. She couldn’t help but notice the flicker of hurt in his eyes. It wasn’t his fault, none of this was his fault, but she didn’t know how to stop and felt herself fray further. Clint had always been her rock in hard times, but losing him was worse when Steve looked at her like she was a stranger. She wished he would go. His presence only reminded her that she had lost him, too. 

“Do you even give a shit about any of this? Or am I just another one of your fading memories? A curiosity you want satisfied before you forget you were ever intrigued in the first place?" she hissed, shoving him in the chest. He moved back a step. “Can you even answer that? You don’t even know who I am, do you?” 

Rage tore through her as she watched him. Her accusation fell between them as they stood in silence. She breathed raggedly, hysteria dancing on the edge of each exhalation. Steve swallowed, clearly bothered by her words. He set his jaw, ruminating with a pained expression. 

The silence between them was answer enough for Natasha. With a derisive snort, she moved to shoulder past him, but he stepped in front of her. Burning with anger, she shoved him, but he didn’t budge. In a blind frenzy, she pummelled him with her fists, striking his chest, abdomen, shoulders, whatever part of him she could find. Undeterred, he didn’t move, her blows glancing off him. He refused to let her be alone, no matter what she did. She screamed in agitation. 

“Move!” she cried, and struck him in the jaw, jerking his head back. There was a half second where they stood frozen in this tableau, scored only by the sound of her breathing. Then, faster than she could track, Steve reached up and caught her wrist, fixing her with his gaze. He looked at her with such a palpable sense of grief, like he was upset that he didn't know how to help her. The rage in her quelled a little, leaving her hollow. She struggled in his grasp for a beat, looking at him hatefully.

“Natasha…” he said softly, as he looked deeply into her eyes. She balked at the sound of her name, eyes welling with tears. Gently he reached up and cupped her face, thumbs lightly sweeping across the freckles on her cheeks. “Natasha.” 

Natasha unravelled; she broke down and buried her face into Steve’s chest, coiling her arms around his waist. He froze as she sobbed against him, pulling him closer as if she was trying to disappear into him. Her fingers snaked up his back, balling the fabric of his shirt into tight knots. It was as if years of anguish poured from her. She grieved when she had lost her friends and family, but she had learned long ago to never stop long enough to let the pain touch her. There would be a time for that, she reasoned, when this was all over. 

But now she was stripped of all her defenses, heart laid bare. She felt Steve’s arms hesitantly circle around her in return, face dipping into her hair. He squeezed, as if worried she might suddenly disappear, or that he might wake up from a dream. From deep within her, a flicker of warmth grew. It was strange, alien to her. She felt _ safe. _

“I’ve never been scared like that before,” his voice reverberated through her as he spoke. “I didn’t want to lose you.” He sounded shaken. “It’s all I could think about.” 

Natasha nuzzled into him, squeezing him tightly in reassurance. Words wouldn’t come, not now, but she slid her shaking fingers to his neck, twining them through his hair weakly. _ I’m sorry _. She felt the words at her core and hoped he could feel them too. Tears started anew and she felt as though he was the only thing keeping her upright. 

She didn’t know how long she held him like that, his chest now wet with her tears. She became a little more aware of herself, trying to control her breathing as she took deep, shuddering gulps of air. Steve pulled back slightly to look at her, but she couldn’t make herself let go of him. She couldn’t make herself face this. Against her forehead she could feel the thrum of his heart as it pounded against his ribs. She felt him breathe, rising and falling with him. She could be strong. She didn’t have to put him through this. She could soldier on as she always had. But she couldn't bring herself to let him go.

“What do you need?” he asked softly, his breath tickling her ear. 

She needed to feel the timbre of his voice reverberate through her. She needed to freeze time and stay in this moment with him, safe in his embrace. She needed Clint back. She needed this nightmare to end. The things she needed, _ wanted _more than anything, he couldn’t give. Natasha rested her forehead against the wet stain she created, clutching at his sides. “Please...get me out of this place,” she whispered. 

As soon as she spoke the words, she felt herself swept from her feet, held fast in Steve’s grasp. Silently, he took her from the room. She rested her head against his shoulder and wrapped her arms around his neck, grateful for the contact with his cool skin. The rush of the night air felt good on her face and they didn’t stop for a long time. 

Natasha’s tears finally had run dry. Her head pounded with exhaustion and dehydration and she felt her body grow heavy against him. When he finally set her down, the stars twinkled overhead. On the horizon, the sky lightened into a soft grey. She wasn’t sure where they were; at this point, she didn’t really care. Steve turned to move away, but in a panic, Natasha pinned him, arms still circled around his neck. She could make out his look of surprise in the dim light. He was close now, face inches from hers. She studied him, noting the shape of his eyes, his long lashes, the trace of dark veins under his pale skin. Very seriously, Natasha looked him in the eyes.

“Steve,” his name broke as she said it, voice raw from crying. She paused and licked her lips and his gaze flitted to follow the path of her tongue briefly. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier,” she continued, “I shouldn’t have said— I didn’t mean… any of it.” 

With a small smile, he reached up and gently unwound her hands from his neck. “I know,” he said softly.

“I don’t hate you,” she pressed, gripping him tightly, afraid he wouldn’t believe her. “Steve I—” Giving her a reassuring look, Steve pulled her into him. Relieved, she rested her head on his shoulder, finally relaxing. She breathed evenly for a moment before her eyes fluttered shut and she drifted, succumbing to her exhaustion. There was a beat, Natasha’s soft breaths the only sound between them. His thumb traced her temple lightly as he considered her before he dipped his face into her hair and breathed in the scent of her. Natasha barely registered the sensation anymore.

“I know,” he murmured into her hair before he gently laid her down to rest. 


	15. Not to Yield

Natasha awoke with the sun high overhead. Blinking her puffy eyes confusedly, she inhaled deeply and rubbed her pounding temples. She sat for a moment, feeling the weight of yesterday crash down on her. She sighed heavily, too drained to cry anymore. There was no time for that now. Madame Hydra had taunted her in the moment, but she showed her hand. Hydra was planning an attack on Shield. Natasha pushed herself to her feet slowly. She had to return home, she had to warn Shield. If she failed, if she didn’t reach Shield before Hydra did, it could mean the end of everything— Clint would remain infected and everyone she knew would be wiped from existence.

When Natasha stood, she nearly crumpled in pain. She staggered forward a little, collecting herself before she collapsed to the ground. Closing her eyes briefly, she breathed shallowly through the pain. Everything hurt. She could feel the bruising welts all over her body where she had been grabbed. Her back and neck ached where she had fallen. It felt like it was a miracle that she was here. When she moved to stand again, she could feel her pulse pounding in her ribs, radiating pain in hot, agonizing waves. Taking slow, shallow breaths to focus, Natasha blearily surveyed their surroundings. Steve had brought them to the remains of an old farmhouse. The roof had collapsed long ago, leaving the frame standing exposed like skeletal remains reaching toward the bright blue sky. As far as she could guess, they were still close to the compromised Shield base. At least they were making their way back to Shield. They couldn’t have gone too far away from the facility, though she figured that they had made good time as Steve wasn’t susceptible to physical exhaustion. At least, that’s what she had thought. Currently Steve sat in the darkest corner of the room. His arms were crossed and his eyes were shut. He appeared to be sleeping. 

Natasha watched him curiously. She had never seen him rest at all. She knew the horde went into a sort of dormant trance in the day, but wasn’t sure how it worked with the Old Ones. He seemed so peaceful leaned against the side wall. Moments like this made him seem so human. The only thing marking him as infected were the paleness of his skin and the dark hue of the spidery veins around his eyes and temples. His sandy hair was mussed from sleep and his face was relaxed, lips parted slightly. She wondered if he dreamed. 

Looking at him closer, she took in the spots of dried blood that painted his face and body. His clothes were a mess, torn, bloody and covered in a layer of muck. She looked down at her own bloodstained and sullied clothes, suddenly feeling the need to crawl from her layers. She would kill for a shower. The Shield safehouse her and her team had stayed in on their way here likely wasn’t far. A terrible consideration made Natasha pause. Madame Hydra’s words raced through her like a chill. _ We have eyes everywhere._

She had to assume this meant Shield was compromised, and by extension, the safehouses. Natasha chewed the healed over split on her lip anxiously. There were no communications towers nearby, and while there were bases, how could she trust that they weren’t already compromised? Madame Hydra indicated that Hydra’s influence was greater than they knew. If she went to another Shield base, who was to say that it wasn’t another trap? That another Old One wasn’t in command? The safest way was to deliver the message directly to Fury. There was no way in hell he was Hydra. She had to move fast, which left her with no other choice, the safehouses were still her best bet for protection at night. There might be a change of clothes and some supplies there at least. 

Frustrated, Natasha stood and unzipped her ruined jacket and slowly, agonizingly, shrugged it from her, revealing the sleeveless under-layer she wore. Travel was secondary, right now, she needed to assess how badly she was hurt. It would slow her progress considerably if it was as bad as she thought it was. Slowly, Natasha began to survey the extent of her injuries. 

One by one she counted the bruises on her arms in the shape of fingers where she had been grabbed. In places her skin had been cut, blood crusted over the wounds in angry red lines. Feeling her face, she gingerly fingered the marks on her jawline and neck, wincing at the contact. The gash Madame Hydra had left on her cheek would likely scar. When she brushed her throat, she shivered, remembering how Madame Hydra hovered over her, squeezing the life from her. It gave her a small measure of satisfaction that her corpse lay decomposing in the ruin of the base. Glancing at Steve still resting in the shade, she made her way outside the remains of the building for the next part. She knew it was going to be difficult. Maybe this wasn’t the time, but she could feel the damage to her body and needed to assess it. Natasha unfastened her belt and slid her pants off and stepped out of them with a soft gasp of pain. The heavier material and reinforced padding in the knees and thighs had helped, but it couldn’t do much against the inhuman strength of the infected. 

She pulled up the leg of her under-layer shorts to reveal a patchwork of ugly purples, blacks, and blues on her thighs. She felt at the back of her legs, hissing when her fingers skimmed a tender spot. The bruises trailed down her calves to the tops of her boots. So far, this was manageable. These bruises would fade in time, and while her injuries were swollen, they seemed like they would heal. It was her body that worried her. Both Rumlow and Madame Hydra had taken shots at her ribs during their fight. She could feel it now— a constant, painful reminder every time she breathed. She couldn’t afford to slow down, especially not now. 

Steeling herself with a long exhale, Natasha lifted her shirt and pulled it up around her stomach. A soft whimper escaped from her when the muscles in her stomach moved. She couldn’t manage to lift her shirt any higher. With a grunt, she looked down at the bloom of purple and black on her side, feeling a sharp pain with each breath she took. Her skin tone was so covered in marks, she seemed like a different species entirely. With shaking fingers, she brushed the skin of her ribs and stomach, a moan worked its way from her as she prodded the injury. She could only pray it wasn’t a fracture. Best case, it was a bone contusion and would start to heal over the next week or so. Relaxing her arms, she imagined her back might look the same, but couldn’t reach to feel without nearly crying out in agony. She was lucky to be alive. 

Natasha breathed evenly for a moment before reaching to pull her shirt back down over her body. In the next few days she would watch for signs of internal bleeding. Gently placing her hand over her tender ribs, she turned to grab her discarded pants. From the broken, leaning door frame, Steve watched her, a stormy expression set on his face. She jumped in surprise, then winced in pain. How long had he been up? 

Natasha bent to pick up her clothes, struggling against her injuries. A whimper clawed its way from her lips and she couldn’t force herself to go any further. Her fingers just barely brushed the fabric. Before she knew it, Steve was at her feet, quickly stooping to pick up her pants and handing them to her. 

“Thanks” she said huskily, her voice strained from nearly being choked to death. Steve was frustrated, though Natasha couldn’t guess why. “Did I wake you?” she asked lightly as she watched him. He appraised her sharply, surveying the marks on her arms, face, neck as they trailed down her body. He swallowed thickly, brows knit into a frown. 

“How could I have been so stupid?” he asked, an angry edge to his tone. He must’ve heard her as she inspected her injuries, must’ve seen her purpled flesh and blackened ribs. She didn’t even want to know what her face looked like. “I should’ve known what this was doing to you. I should’ve noticed.” 

Natasha gave him a small smile and she turned and continued inside to retrieve her jacket. He followed close behind as she staggered past him. “It’s part of the cost of being a hunter,” she said, struggling to pick her jacket up from the floor. Once again Steve strode over and picked it up for her. “Believe it or not, this is not the worst I’ve been injured,” she said reassuringly, “I did a mission in Budapest with Clint once. We barely made it out, I don’t even remember a lot of it. Everyone was so sure I wouldn’t make it back from that one. I was on bed rest for three weeks. So this? It’s really not so bad.” 

She meant to sound lighthearted about it. It was a funny enough story now that it was over, but Steve didn’t seem reassured. “Natasha, you can't even bend over to pick things up.” 

Natasha flushed, raising her chin defensively. “I can stand. I can still fight, and I’m not backing down now. I'm stronger than you think, Steve.” 

Steve looked at her pleadingly. “I’m not saying you aren’t, Natasha. But your strength isn’t measured by how much pain you can force yourself to endure. I should’ve had your back. I should’ve protected you better. ” 

“What, so you could take the hits instead? How is that any better?”

He huffed in irritation, “It’s not the same for me and you know it.”

Natasha felt his words weigh heavily on her. She knew she was being obstinate, unreasonable. She was mottled black and blue, beaten and weakened. But the only signs Steve showed that he had been in a fight at all were the dried blood on his clothes and skin. 

She sighed heavily, hating that he was right. “I don’t want to waste time with this. I can manage. I’ll be fine, Steve.” 

Steve handed her her jacket with an incredulous look. “It’s not a waste of time. Wearing yourself out until you can’t fight anymore is... Promise me you’ll rest today.” 

Natasha huffed, blowing the stray hairs from her face. He sounded a little like Clint. “I can’t, Steve. There’s more at play than just me being a little hurt.” 

He snorted derisively at her remark, they both knew ‘a little hurt’ was a huge understatement. They stood close together, leaning in a little in frustration. Natasha met his intense gaze and licked her lips, tongue running over the cracked split on her lip. He seemed so concerned, so worried for her— she looked away, unable to face that level of scrutiny. 

“Madame Hydra told me something when she had me alone,” she admitted. 

Steve frowned, seemingly about to say something, but Natasha continued, trying to get him to understand why she needed to keep pushing herself. 

“The organization she is with— Hydra,” she nearly spat the word, “They are planning an attack on Shield, they are going to wipe them out.” 

He looked at her with a puzzled frown, like he didn’t quite understand what she was talking about. Natasha swallowed and stepped a little closer. 

“Do you remember Shield, Steve?” she asked quietly, “Do you remember any of that?”

Steve paused, his expression becoming a little tense as he tried to remember what she was talking about. He shook his head a little, looking like he was really trying, like he didn’t want to disappoint her again. It pained her to see him struggle like that. Natasha just nodded. If he didn’t remember her, why would he remember anything else?

“Maybe that’s for the best,” she said softly, “They put you through a lot of suffering there…”

Steve’s face flickered curiously at her admission. He seemed like he wanted to know, but couldn’t bring himself to ask her more about it. Natasha quelled the sense of guilt she felt in the part she had played in his suffering. It was no use dredging that up now…

“Maybe you don’t understand this, or care, but Shield is my home. And… Clint—” she paused and swallowed hard, pushing down the quaver in her voice at the mention of his name. Steve understood that one. His expression softened at the mention of Clint’s name. 

“It’s my only chance of making this right.” 

Regardless of what Shield had done, it had been a constant fixture for her for most of her life. She had lived at Shield, fought for Shield, longer than she had lived with her parents. She couldn’t bear to think what would happen if it were gone. Steve searched her, leaning in a little to study her expression. He saw how serious this was, how much this meant to her, and pursed his lips, clearly not liking what this would do to her. 

“I’m fine,” she said, eyes falling to the ground, “I can do this. I have to do this.”

Steve watched her for another beat before breaking this strange standoff between them. “I know,” he said quietly.

She took as deep a breath as she could manage and limped over to the remainder of her gear to prepare herself for the journey. “I’m just going to get my bearings first,” she said, kneeling down with an agonized whimper. She needed to refocus. Natasha knelt in the grass, withdrawing her safehouse map and checking the route they would take. 

In the quietness of the ruined farmhouse, Natasha checked her gear over, taking a moment to take stock of her remaining weapons and supplies. She had lost most of her things in the fight with Madame Hydra, so she was counting on resupplying at the safehouse. Feeling out of sorts, she hummed a song her father used to sing to her while she worked. She had forgotten the words to it a long time ago, but the tune still stuck with her after he was gone. She remembered that it was a song about love. Her father would sing it to her mother while they slow danced around the kitchen after Natasha was supposed to be in bed. She loved the way her mother smiled back at him— a shy smile, her green eyes sparkling with adoration— Natasha hoped she might feel that for someone one day. As she worked, Steve became contemplative and a little withdrawn. He traced circles in the dirt near his bare feet with his claw. When she saw Steve’s closed off posture, she paused and refolded her map. He seemed to miss the song she had hummed, and the silence enveloped them both. He didn’t look up when he spoke, studying his feet as he continued to draw in the dirt. 

“Do you know what I used to be like as a human?”

His question caught her off guard. It seemed out to come out of nowhere, but he had only learned the night before that he had been human once. It had clearly been on his mind since then. She didn’t think he would give it so much thought. He had known before, she had told him that he was human at one point when they first met, but maybe it was different seeing himself on film. How strange that must be to see himself, a stranger fighting for something that he no longer felt anything about... 

“I’ve heard only stories,” she said, returning her attention back to her gear, “I don’t know how many of them are true anymore.” 

Steve shifted, seemingly unsure if he really wanted to know. Natasha didn’t want to look at him. She was afraid to talk about this. What was the use in comparing himself to a legendary man like Steve Rogers? It was impossible to measure up to someone like him. Natasha sighed a little. 

“Will you tell me about him?” came Steve’s quiet response. 

  
  


Natasha located her medkit and inspected each item carefully. She put it back into the zippered compartment of her ruined jacket. Hopefully there would be spare uniforms at safehouse as well...

“From what I know, he was a good man. Honorable, honest, noble, smart, an incredible fighter and leader… That kind of thing. He really stood for something, even before the infection.” She finally answered as she placed her remaining flare into her pants pocket. Steve frowned a little, shifting to fold his arms across his chest. She looked up at him briefly, and the sight gave her pause. She had seen him in a propaganda poster looking the exact same way. Though he had been a little more sharply dressed then. The sight made her chuckle a little and he looked up at her confusedly. A thought occurred to her and she leaned in a little, eyes wide. 

“They say he was in movies, like an actor before he was a hunter— a soldier, I mean.” 

That story made about as much sense to Steve as it did for Natasha. Neither of them had seen a movie before, and Steve tried to disguise the fact that he had no idea what a movie even was. His expression was a dead giveaway and it made Natasha laugh. 

“Do you know what I mean?” she said lightly. 

Steve shook his head and she smiled a little. “It was something people used to do in the time before. Sort of like a play— I guess. Maybe you don’t know that either…” 

Steve shook his head again and she paused, looking for a way to describe this. “ Movies were… People would pretend to be characters in a story and film it.” 

It was an inadequate description, but she didn’t have much of a frame of reference. At Steve’s incredulous look, Natasha snorted. “I can’t imagine it, but I guess they have a movie at one of the Shield bases in England. I’ve heard it’s pretty good, it’s about a wizard and a girl with red shoes.” Steve looked like he didn’t quite believe her. She hadn’t seen it either and it sounded just as absurd to her as it did to him. 

“I really used to do that?” 

The pronoun switch caught Natasha’s attention. Until now, it seemed like they were talking about two separate people— and in a way they were. Thinking of it now, it was difficult to imagine that they were ever the same person at all. Natasha tilted her head a little, curiously watching Steve. During their confrontation in the Shield labs, he himself claimed that they were separate, he never once defined himself by his human past and when he spoke to her then, he was clear that he didn’t think of Steve Rogers as him at all. 

“I don’t know,” she replied, “It seems absurd.” Steve smiled a little and rubbed his neck sheepishly. “Why the sudden interest, Steve?” 

He watched her thoughtfully before returning his gaze to his feet. He seemed to struggle to define what he was feeling. “I… I’m something in between, aren’t I?” he said softly, “Seeing what the Old Ones were like, I’m not like them. I can feel things, I can…” he pursed his lips and frowned, searching for the right words. “I’m a little like you,” he said, looking at Natasha shyly, “I don’t remember why anymore, but I—” he placed his hand over his beating heart as he searched her. “This thing in me is like yours, it’s human.”

Natasha’s lips parted slightly as she watched him. He didn’t remember what she had done to him. She supposed he had had some clues though. Madame Hydra had accused her of ruining him by restoring a sliver of his humanity. 

“I guess I thought, hearing about him… about me, when I was like that. Maybe it would help me understand this. But I don’t know that it did. I’m human, but I’m not. I guess I just wanted to know if he was like me, or… if I’m like him.” 

Natasha blinked. It must be hard to grapple with identity like that. She had forced this on him in her attempt to save her own life. But it was changing him in ways that neither of them would have anticipated. Thinking back on it now, it was this change that made her so receptive to him. The change had been so fast, but he became kind, gentle, protective. He was right, he was like her. He was human in so, so many ways. When he appeared at Madame Hydra’s base, she was relieved to see him. Not because she thought he might save her, but because she was glad he had escaped. The thought gave her pause and her heart beat a little faster. She had missed him, she realized. 

“I don’t know if I’m much help,” Natasha admitted, pushing aside what that meant for her, “I never knew him. He was something of a legend and so much more to so many.” 

Steve’s face fell a little at her words and she leaned forward, drawing his attention. 

“But he’s not you, Steve.” 

He seemed surprised at that and swallowed hard. Natasha licked her lips, her mouth suddenly feeling dry. “I did this do you,” she said quietly, “I made you like this… You were more like the Old Ones before. I gave you a cure and this is what it did.” His brow furrowed as he listened to her. 

“I was desperate, but I don’t regret what I did.” she continued, “And maybe you don’t feel the same way, maybe you don’t wish you were like this at all, but I’m glad that you are. And! Not just because you had my back and protected me back there! I’m… I was glad to see you.” she admitted softly, the words gushing from her in what she was certain was an idiotic ramble. Her face felt flushed as she spoke. 

“You’re not him, Steve and you’re not like them— the Old Ones either. And I’m glad you’re not! You’re just you, and I…” She faltered, never liking expressing what she was feeling. She exhaled sharply and shoved her hair from her face, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. 

Whatever courage had inspired her to be so open petered out with her faltering words and Natasha clammed up. She withered a little under his gaze as he waited for her to continue, but she didn’t know what else to say and she fell silent. Steve considered her words with a look of surprise. He seemed a bit troubled by this revelation. Natasha didn't know if it was because he was shocked to learn she had given him this shred of humanity back, or because she admitted she wanted to see him again. 

“I don’t know what I was before,” he said finally, “Maybe it doesn’t matter.” 

It felt strange to admit what she was feeling. She had just assumed that he would stay, that he wouldn't wrestle with himself like this. But that wasn't fair. He had no stake in this, no reason to stay— and yet she wanted him to. She couldn’t imagine doing this without him. Pragmatically, she needed someone to help her. Travelling alone was dangerous, especially in her condition. She would never make it back in time to warn Shield without help. But there was more to it than just that. She remembered her breakdown the night before with a mix of embarrassment and, strangely, comfort. It scared her to think that she needed him for more than just his help. It was difficult to define what he was to her, but she couldn’t imagine him anywhere else but by her side. Natasha swallowed her fear and raised her chin, immediately feeling her face flush a little as she faced him. She hoped that the bruises would disguise it. 

“Will you—” she began, but her strained voice broke, and she licked her lips to try again. It was more difficult now because Steve looked at her with a puzzled innocence that made it hard for her to look at him. 

“Stay with me,” she finally managed to choke out, echoing the feelings he had once expressed to her in Shield’s labs a lifetime ago. The colour in her face deepened. She had refused him then, afraid of letting this strange thing between them grow. But now she was the one to ask him to stay.

Steve’s face softened and he watched her with quiet wonder. 

“I’d like that,” he said softly. 

Natasha felt the flutter return in her belly and she packed her gear and pulled on her pants again. It sent a little thrill through her to hear him say it, but another, invasive thought crept through her. How long would it be until he forgot again? Driven insane by thirst and losing bits of himself until he was unrecognizable. He would become something so foreign, so sinister. Selfishly, she didn’t want to lose him.

“We can’t stay here. We can retrace the route we took to get here. There’s a Shield safehouse in this city with some supplies. I want to go there and see what’s left.” 

Steve frowned, clearly wanting her to take it easy. Natasha sighed. “I’ll rest at the safehouse,” she said. Steve looked at her suspiciously, and she met his eyes. “I promise.” 

He gave her a fleeting smile and they headed out.

* * *

Natasha limped along for about ten minutes before Steve had to carry her the rest of the way to the safehouse. Her battered legs couldn’t handle the exercise, and her ribs made it difficult for her to breathe. 

It was easier for her to piggyback. Steve helped her onto his back and she circled her arms around Steve’s neck, resting her chin on his shoulder as he held her legs securely around his waist. He moved so much quicker than she ever could in her state and they made up any time they had lost due to her stubbornness. Natasha directed him where to go, looking for the landmarks that would lead them back to the safehouse. They spent most of the time in silence, but Natasha quickly became exhausted, fighting to keep her eyes open. She couldn’t afford to rest yet, not until they had made it to safety. She shook herself a little and inhaled sharply. Steve eyed her, turning his head a little to see what she was doing. 

“Steve,” she said finally, voice soft and strained. 

He hummed a little in acknowledgement and Natasha fingered the crusted blood dried on her arms, flaking it off contemplatively. 

“Do you sleep?” she asked. 

He seemed a little amused by her question, gently readjusting her as he walked. 

“Why are you asking?” his tone was light, sounding a little pleased that she wanted to know about him. 

“I…” Natasha sighed, her breath ghosting across his cheek, “When I got up this morning, it looked like you were sleeping. I know the horde becomes sort of… dormant in the day, but what about you? I’ve never seen you do that before…” 

Steve smiled a little and turned his attention back to the road. “It’s not sleep in the way that you do it,” he said. “After I heal from wounds, or if I lose blood, I need to recover. Daylight makes me tired so I sort of… go dormant, like you said.” 

Natasha wasn’t aware that she squeezed him a little tighter, interested in finding out this insight about how he lived. 

“Then… do you dream?” 

He slowed a little as he walked, deep in thought. 

“Dream?” he asked, not fully understanding what she was asking. 

Maybe he wouldn’t remember if he had ever had them. Steve seemed like he had no idea what she was talking about. 

“Yeah… It’s something that happens when we’re asleep. Your brain sort of gives you… visions. Sometimes they’re about things that happen to you when you’re awake, sometimes they’re about the things you can’t bring yourself to think about, sometimes they’re not really about anything. They usually feel so real, and you don’t know you’re dreaming until you wake up.” 

Steve seemed genuinely interested, like he was amazed that such a thing could be possible. He readjusted his grip on her legs as gently as he could and looked over his shoulder at her, expression tinted with curiosity. 

“Do you dream, Natasha?” 

She smiled a little at his expression. “Sometimes,” she said, “almost everyone does. Well— most humans do, anyway.” 

Steve hummed in interest, turning his attention back to the road again. “What do you dream about?” he asked. 

Natasha rested her chin on her shoulder in thought. “I guess… lots of different things. Sometimes I dream about the people I’ve lost. Sometimes I dream that I don’t have to fight anymore, that the world was normal again.” 

She paused, watching the clouds pass over the lush overgrown ruin of the countryside. Rusted cars and tanks sat abandoned in the fields like monuments. Natasha chuckled humourlessly and turned her gaze to the road ahead. “I don’t even know what that looks like. Everyone from that time is gone.” 

Steve was quiet, watching his feet as they walked. “I was from that time, wasn’t I?” he asked. 

Natasha nodded, moving her head to rest on the crook of her arm. “Yeah.”

He smiled wistfully. “I wish I could remember to tell you what it was like.” 

Natasha tightened her grip on him a little, trying to reassure him in some way. “It’s okay, Steve,” she said softly, “it might be something best left in dreams. We can never go back to that.” 

Steve nodded and they fell into silence once more. Every now and then Natasha would give him directions on where to go next. But her exhaustion and the silence between them made her doze a little. She wasn’t aware she had nodded off until Steve gently said her name and gave her legs a little squeeze. Natasha jerked upright, head snapping from where she rested against Steve’s neck. 

“I think we’re here,” he said quietly as he stopped in front of the old wedge of concrete jutting from the earth. 

A flush of embarrassment coloured Natasha’s cheeks as she shook the sleepiness from her. She gingerly unwound her arms from his neck and he let her down as gently as he could. It didn’t stop her from inhaling sharply and clutching her ribs, drawing a concerned look from Steve.

It was just as they had left it. Her and Clint and Sitwell and Rumlow. The thought left her hollow and she limped forward, withdrawing the key for the front door. All safe houses had a similar lock, once they were occupied, hunters could bolt the door more securely. Natasha unlocked it and pulled it open with a grunt. Their bedrolls were lined along the wall where they had left them, like they would all be back for them within the next week. 

Natasha exhaled shakily, dreading the creeping numbness that threatened to consume her. She let procedure take over and set about securing the rooms, getting out the lanterns for later, and setting out and unlocking the supply caches. In the main room was the lookout and supply area. It functioned like a little mudroom, with benches and lockers for keeping items. In the next room was the sleeping quarters, a plain empty square with a trunk containing spare hunter uniforms and first aid. Behind that was a small bathroom containing a rudimentary shower and toilet. It was fairly luxurious as far as safehouses went. 

As Natasha mechanically went through her processes Steve hovered, seemingly unsure of how this was all impacting her. When she was finished, she began unpacking her gear, methodically setting out the remainder of her weapons and supplies, before stripping off her ruined clothes. At least, that’s what she wanted to do, but found she couldn’t bend over enough to reach her boots. She struggled until she couldn’t bear the pain anymore and sighed in frustration. 

This was so stupid. She felt so embarrassed to need help with something so simple. If it was Clint, Sam, anyone else, she would have felt less weak. They had been there, too. But Steve never kept his injuries, he never felt vulnerable and weak like this. She looked over at Steve, who watched her with concern. 

“I’m going to need your help, I think,” she said quietly. 

Steve looked her up and down, and softened a little when he understood what she was asking of him. He knelt in front of her and propped her foot on his leg to unlace her boot. Natasha had undressed her injured hunter partners many times. It was just business. This felt like something else. Steve deftly worked the laces loose and pulled the boot from her foot before he worked her socks off as well. He then propped her other leg up and did the same. Natasha wiggled her toes as he worked. When he was finished, Steve turned to move away and she stood and grasped the hem of her shirt to pull it over her head, but found herself unable to life her arms high enough to do it without terrible pain. With a sigh, she stared at the floor.

“Steve…” She said quietly, holding her shirt tightly in her grasp, “Sorry, I can’t…” Steve blanched. It was almost funny to see him uncharacteristically flustered. Hesitantly, Steve closed the gap between them and carefully grasped her shirt and lifted it over her body. As he revealed the tender flesh of her body, his gaze lit on the swollen, purple contusion that marked her like a curse and his face darkened. Not wanting to retread his concerns from earlier, Natasha gingerly raised her arm, keeping the other tucked by the injury on her ribs. His gaze snapped to the task at hand and he pulled the shirt over her arm as she gritted her teeth. Carefully, he pulled the shirt over her head and she did her best not to cry, but a small whimper tore from her and he stopped.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she quickly reassured him. Steve hovered, unsure of where to touch her that wouldn’t cause her pain. She moved to pull the shirt the rest of the way off of her arm and another cry escaped her as she froze in agony. Her head was trapped in her shirt, one arm awkwardly tangled in the fabric and the other free. They paused for a moment, Natasha watching Steve watch her like he didn’t know what to do.

She had to laugh. It burst from her and she immediately doubled over, clutching her ribs. Somehow this made it more funny and she laughed harder, nearly collapsing from the torment. It didn’t help that Steve seemed absolutely shell shocked. He hovered, cool hands brushing her sides, then her arms like he was afraid to break her. 

Had he ever heard her laugh? She knew she didn’t do it often, she never really had cause to. Clint usually could pull one from her every now and then. The thought sobered her a little and her smile became hard. Pausing a moment, Natasha steeled herself. Had she ever seen Steve smile? Ever heard him laugh? She thought back to the picture of him she had found in Carter’s sketchbook. His kind eyes smiling back from the grainy black and white image. Not that way. Not like that, she hadn’t. Taking a second, Natasha pulled the shirt from her head, whimpering as she did. “There,” she sighed, trying to take shallow breaths as she clutched her ribs.

Steve reached out and swiftly tore the shirt apart, avoiding her having to move the arm she kept pinned against her injured ribs. He looked at her with a strange mix of emotion. Like he was struggling to comprehend her humanity and wishing he could have a little of it himself. From deep within her a thought needled at her, and before she could push it from her mind, it was there, a deep desire that she had refused to acknowledge. She wished he would look at her like the Steve from the photo. She swallowed a lump in her throat, hating herself for even thinking it. It was childish to want that, stupid to ever expect that from him. She wanted him to be something that he wasn’t— human. 

“I think I can manage from here, thanks” she finally said.

Steve nodded curtly and she left the room to shower. Natasha unbraided her hair, feeling it stay in place where blood had cemented it to her scalp. With great difficulty, she stepped out of her garments, and turned the lever of the small water tank with a shower head attached and unleashed a steady stream of water. It was tepid, but she didn’t care. Natasha stepped under the water, nearly crying in relief as she washed off the near ten hours of cemented on filth from her. She watched the blood drip from her, spiralling at her feet in slow, rusty circles. The stream of water was a relief on her aching skin and she wanted to stand there forever, but there was only so much water in the tank before it needed to be filled again. She quickly finger combed the caked on mess from her hair and scrubbed herself as gently as she could manage before shutting off the water. 

Getting dressed was somewhat easier than getting undressed. Pulling a new uniform from the trunk, she slowly and awkwardly pulled each article on, only managing to pull on her shirt and shorts layer before she couldn’t handle it anymore. This was fine. She left her hair down to dry. 

In the other room Steve was sitting, eyes shut. He looked like he was sleeping again. Maybe the fight with Madame Hydra had affected him more than he let on. Natasha watched him for a moment before his eyes fluttered open to look at her. He was filthy still. Covered in dried blood and dirt. His grey Shield-issue medical garments were nearly unrecognizable. 

“Shower’s free,” she said, as she gingerly entered the sleeping room. “There’s something that might fit you in the supply trunk, too.”

Steve got up and brushed past her, closing the door behind him. Natasha took the opportunity to look through the supply caches. Stock was low on some items, but it was better than nothing. She laid out the items she wanted to take with her, and a few more she thought Steve might need. There were more hand axes, tactical knives, throwing knives and the like. She organized them, imagining where she would keep them when she wore them. The water shut off and a few minutes later, Steve returned pulling a hunter undershirt over his head. Before she could stop herself, Natasha traced the lines of his abdomen as he pulled the shirt down over his body. He looked good in navy, she mused. And the hunter uniform suited him. 

She immediately rejected the thought with a frown, turning her attention back to her gear. Steve joined her on the floor as she packed, watching her methodically sheath and place the items into a pack for travelling. He had a quizzical expression as he surveyed her gear, not quite understanding the purpose of some of the items. Natasha paused a little to look at him, and she couldn’t help her smile as she watched him studying the items. She liked the Shield emblem emblazoned on his shoulders. There was something official about it, like he had finally come back home. When he caught her staring, he shyly looked away. She imagined a blush on his cheeks as he did. Natasha hastily threw herself back into her work, ignoring the colour flushing into her own cheeks. It must be exhaustion making her think such impractical, pointless things. There was no place for that here, not when she had a job to do. 

“Do you want to pack some gear?” She asked lightly. 

Steve’s expression softened, eyes widening in wonder. He seemed a little excited at the prospect. Natasha smirked and showed him what she was taking, explaining the function of each item. She showed him where the storage compartments were in his cargo pants and what she usually put in those pockets. Steve listened very carefully, nodding as he considered each item. 

“And I can take a few things for you in my shoulder pack if you like,” she offered. 

Steve rubbed his neck thoughtfully, eyeing the items she had out on the floor. He glanced up at Natasha and got up and retreated to the other room. She frowned a little and began putting her items in her bag, sheathing her knives in her uniform that she would put on tomorrow, and storing anything else back in the caches. Steve returned with two hunter undershirts, a small towel, and first aid items. Natasha didn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t that. 

“That’s it?” she asked, unable to mask the amusement in her voice. 

Steve nodded and began packing the first aid in the pockets Natasha had pointed out. 

“I get blood on everything,” he said, “so I guess I just need shirts.” 

Natasha smirked and folded them up tightly to put in her back. “And the first aid?” 

Steve stuffed a roll of gauze into one of his pockets intently. “Oh that’s for you,” he said. 

Natasha looked up from her bag to watch him, but he was still focused on organizing and packing the items in his pockets. 

“I have first aid, Steve,” she said gently. 

He nodded. She had shown him the supplies she had packed. “I know… I just… ” he sighed and looked up at her, eyes searching, tracing the bruises and marks on her face, her neck, her arms. He returned his focus to packing the items. “It’s just in case,” he said softly. 

Natasha swallowed thickly and began packing her items again in silence, ignoring the strange butterflies she felt in her stomach. 

Having exhausted all her packing and repacking options, Natasha finally resigned herself to sitting against the wall, dozing off and on. She tried to stay awake, she needed to think through her next moves. 

At present, her head drooped and she shook herself a little to stay awake. Steve sat across from her and when she shook herself for what must’ve been the fifth time he exhaled sharply and crossed the room to her. She looked at him in surprise as he gently pushed her to lie back. “You promised you would rest,” he said quietly. He wore a look of deep concern, angry with himself once again for being so useless to help her. Natasha frowned and wiped her eyes stubbornly. She didn’t like to rest, she didn’t want to slow down. It meant more time thinking about worthless things, and if she left it long enough, thinking about Clint and how she had failed him. 

Her frown deepened, but she relented at his insistent stare, she _ had _said she would rest. She leaned back, but the motion sent a fresh wave of pain through her and she froze, gasping and clutching at her side, trying to take short breaths to stop the awful pain of her lungs expanding against her rib cage. She whimpered, tears pricking her eyes. This had been so much easier to manage when she had been full of adrenaline and fighting for her life. Steve hovered over her, supporting her battered body as she leaned heavily into him. Natasha squeezed her eyes shut, counting the beats of her heart as they throbbed against her fingers. The contusion was tender and radiating heat. She exhaled slowly and moved to try to lie back again, when Steve suddenly slipped his hand under her shirt and rested it over her sensitive ribs. She gasped softly at the contact, painful at first. Eventually the chill from his hand seeped into her skin and she nearly fainted with relief. “Is this okay?” he asked. Natasha could only nod in response, suddenly feeling like her limbs were made of lead. She leaned back into him, exhausted from pushing herself through pain all day.

They were both very tense as she rested her head on his lap, his hand still icy against her skin. Eventually Natasha’s body couldn’t hold up and she finally relaxed against him. She didn’t think she could move even if she wanted to. She stared at the wall across from them, eyes skirting the line where the floor met the wall and they descended into uncomfortable silence. The thoughts began to circle in Natasha’s head and she was left to the mercy of her mind. It became too much to bear, imagining over and over what she might have done differently to save Clint, or that she should have killed him. She sighed and nestled her head more comfortably against Steve’s thigh. She felt like she had to say something or she would go insane. She blurted the first thing that came to mind. 

“What is it like…” She started, her voice sounding too loud after the silence, “What does it taste like, drinking blood?”

A highly impertinent thing to ask, but she didn’t care at this point. She had always wondered. In the back of her mind, she wanted to know the experience of it, what her family, her friends, Steve, Clint felt when they tried to kill her, consumed by the desire to tear her apart. Steve shifted a little under her and she turned to look up at him. He was distant, considering her question. For a moment she wasn’t sure he would answer her. 

“It’s not so much how it tastes,” he said slowly. “It’s more of... the feel of it. I don’t remember much about it, I sort of… disappear. Like I was never really real. There’s nothing else except that. Everything vibrates, I can… feel it through me, everywhere. It’s like I couldn’t feel or see or hear anything before that moment, like I had been buried alive and now I was finally free. I could breathe again.” 

Natasha went cold. She imagined Clint experiencing the same thing. What had she condemned him to? Steve exhaled shakily, glancing briefly at Natasha to gauge her reaction. 

“I tell myself now that I don’t want to want it,” He said, “But I do. The spaces in between are black and white and I see those moments so clearly; a wash of vivid colour, light and sound and it fills me up, makes me feel like I’m whole. Like I’m real… Like I’m alive.” 

She hadn’t realized she had been holding her breath as she listened, horrified. He smiled humourlessly and Natasha became heavy with regret. Regret for asking him, and regret for the existence she had forced on Clint. She thought of him, feral, alone in the remnants of Madame Hydra’s Shield facility and her eyes welled with tears. She swallowed thickly and looked up at Steve. 

“Back at the base… with Madame Hydra…” Steve’s face became stony at the mention of her name. “When she… she offered to turn me. Would you have let her?” Steve’s expression became blank. It must be lonely living like that, why wouldn’t he want someone to share his experience with? It’s all Madame Hydra had wanted. A companion, someone she could be with who was like her. Steve was quiet, staring at her, silver eyes gleaming. She imagined her own eyes becoming like his, animalistic, _ glowing _. She pictured her face, pale, veins blackened by infection, smile revealing rows of pointed teeth like Madame Hydra. It sent a shiver through Natasha.

“I don’t… want you to be like me-- like this,” he finally said. He looked at his hand with a strange mix of sadness and revulsion. When he faced her, he seemed earnest.

Natasha felt like he had poured bleach on her brain. She was certain he would’ve at least considered it. Why wouldn’t he want to make her like him? Didn’t he want her for himself? _ Why? _The question circled in her mind, and wrote itself clearly on her face. He studied her with a small smile, seeming to consider the answer to her unasked question for a moment. “You’d be… wrong, somehow. Everything about you would be stripped away. You’d be something different, you wouldn’t be you and I never want that.” 

She suddenly felt too close, stifled against him. His fingers gently resting on her skin felt like a brand under her shirt and she studied the way it bunched into loose folds where his hand disappeared beneath the fabric. She blanched, feeling the colour in her face deepen. Steve must’ve felt her discomfort because he shifted uneasily and slid his hand from her, claws grazing the skin of her belly as he withdrew. It became too much for Natasha. She squirmed and struggled to sit, the ticklish sensation his fingers left sent goosebumps all over her body. So many questions burned in her. What must he feel when she was near him? He must feel the way she shivered, blushed, burned, when he touched her. Worse still, and more dangerous. What was this? She felt like a teenager again, totally out of her depth. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t had relationships before, hadn’t been interested in people before. But this? This was so _ wrong. _Wrong that he had this effect on her. Wrong that she let him get so close, that she trusted him. Wrong that she even thought of him, an infected, an Old One like… She couldn’t even finish the thought. 

Natasha turned away from him. This served no purpose. It was a waste of energy to agonize over her feelings like this. She couldn’t afford to do this, not when she had a singular purpose. Get to Shield before Hydra did. She had to cure Clint. She had to end this. 

“Can you take first watch?” she said stiffly. 

Steve fidgeted and crossed the room to sit by the door. “I don’t need to rest,” he said, “you can sleep, don’t worry about guard duty.” 

Natasha nodded curtly and struggled into her bedroll with a groan. Steve stayed where he was, looking at the floor beneath his feet. With a sigh, she rolled over and faced the wall, not wanting to look at him any longer. It only brought up things in her so foreign, so unwanted, that she didn’t know how to respond. She couldn’t afford this now, there would be a time for that after all this. It took her a while, but eventually exhaustion consumed her and pulled her into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

* * *

They left at first light, setting out on the road at Natasha’s insistence. Steve fought her on that again. She was still stiff, maybe even more so than the day before, struggling to move as she grabbed her gear and get dressed. But she was working on a deadline and couldn’t afford to slow down. Natasha huffed as she locked up the safehouse again. 

“Would it make you feel better if you carried me again?” she asked, irritated. 

Steve considered her in the pale morning light, looking equally as frustrated with her as she was with him. 

“Would it make _ you _ feel better, Natasha?” he retorted, “I’m not the one who can’t tie my own boots.” 

Natasha blew the errant strands of hair from her face and started down the road. “You don’t even wear boots,” she grumbled. 

“I just wish you’d take care of yourself,” he said quietly, falling into step behind her. 

Natasha chewed her lip, feeling the healed-over split with her tongue. He didn’t have to be so persistent with this. So protective. It would be far easier if he didn’t care so much. She was on a mission and didn’t have time to rest. When Steve worried about her, it reminded her of Clint. Natasha’s eyes welled with tears, and she bit down on the split, sending a sharp, metallic pain through her mouth. _ No more tears, _ she commanded. 

“I can’t stop, Steve,” she said, voice breaking, “If I do, it means that none of that mattered. It means that Clint is alone and infected, that I nearly died for nothing, that I killed my team… for nothing.” 

She could feel Steve’s eyes on her back, watching her intently as she limped onward. She could not fail. There would be a time, much later to grapple with what she had done at Madame Hydra’s, but she couldn’t do it now. This wasn’t about her. But she still grieved. If she never stopped moving, she could bear it. She could push aside her pain. Distantly, she wondered if this is how Shield directors became so hardened. Grief was just a distraction— a purposeless, useless, time-consuming, distraction. 

Steve must’ve heard the emotion in her voice, the way she trembled. He must’ve smelled her blood, sharp and metallic, as she chewed her lip until it burst open. 

“Natasha,” he said sternly, like the was no longer up for negotiation, “let me carry you.” 

He had the grace to not look at her when he knelt in front of her. Natasha considered going around him for a moment, but that would only be serving her pride. She knew she’d never make any headway without Steve. Hesitantly, she leaned against him and he scooped her up and shifted her into place on his back. They carried on in silence and Natasha couldn’t help the bitter tears that escaped her. Steve pretended not to notice her tight grip around him, or the way she buried her face against his shoulder as she collected herself. He just soldiered on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope this is what you all came here for lol. 15 chapters in and we're finally getting a bit of fluff. Though I assume you're all here for the long haul. This chapter is extra long this week, hopefully it makes up for the once a week updates. I am so hecking busy with work and life right now, but I am doing my best not to go on hiatus. 
> 
> I'll also note that I didn't have as much time to edit this chapter, so I hope you all don't get like 30 emails when I make changes because I caught a comma splice or a continuity error. I'll try to stop fiddling with it by Sunday, but please enjoy!
> 
> Next chapter will be up on Friday/Saturday/Sunday again.


	16. The Monsters We Defy

It was approaching five days on the road now and Natasha was impatient with her slowness. Following the same route back was simple enough, but Natasha became increasingly frustrated with their lack of progress. It would take about twenty days to reach their base back in France, especially if they kept moving only during the day time. But it would take even longer if they had to take breaks from travelling every few hours so Natasha could rest. 

When she wasn’t injured, Natasha could withstand the long hours travelling. She had been doing it for years and a ten to twelve hour day was standard when crossing the country, especially if she wanted to make good time. But her injuries really slowed her down. She did her best to push through this, but Steve wouldn’t let her. He felt far less urgency to get back to Shield than she did. His primary concern was always whether or not she was okay. 

They paused from their travels at the foot of an old monument, a statue raised in honour of a man Natasha had never heard of, and likely never would. His face was patinated, corroded with time and disrepair. They had stopped to sit at Steve’s insistence. He always pretended that he grew tired of holding her and needed a break. Natasha knew that was a lie. A terrible one at that. But she let him do it all the same. She sipped her water quietly, watching Steve. 

He squinted in the afternoon sun, shielding his eyes from the light with his hand and frowning a little. They were still about twelve kilometers away from the next safehouse location, and if Natasha guessed correctly, they would arrive about four hours before dusk. It gave them some wiggle room to work with, but she would much rather rest in the security of a safehouse rather than out in the open like this. She took one last sip of water and nudged Steve lightly, urging for him to go. 

He sighed and made a show of stretching his arms, but he didn’t get up. “A few more minutes?” he asked lightly. 

Natasha packed her canteen back into her waist bag. She turned to Steve and slipped her arm around his shoulder, moving for him to carry her. 

No, Steve,” she said. He looked her up and down with a hint of concern and she tried not to let it show how tired she was. “I want to get there before dark.” 

That seemed to register with him and he finally stood. They moved like this was routine, now. And it was— he carried her most days without asking. It was something of an understanding now. Steve easily hoisted her up and she did her best to hang on. Gratefully, her bruises were starting to fade, but the contusion on her ribs would take far longer to heal. She was at least able to breathe a little easier now, and dress and undress herself. That had been a part of the routine, too. Steve tying her boots and helping her into her shirt and jacket… At least she could manage on her own now, but she couldn’t imagine fighting off the horde very effectively. 

It was just under two hours to the safe house and Natasha took to telling him stories or playing the same games that she had played with Clint and Sam on long treks. I spy, twenty questions, two truths and a lie— Steve was terrible at that one— would you rather. Steve was always keen to play and Natasha always liked those games. It was a way of getting to know her partners better. She rubbed her neck a little. That’s what Steve was now… her partner. She sighed. 

The sun was high overhead when Natasha saw the safehouse marker painted on the trunk of a massive oak tree. They were one kilometer out now, nearly there. Idly Natasha inspected her surroundings, noting the familiar dirt road cut into the overgrown grove of trees like a secret path. This was where she had left the other half of her team nearly a week ago now. Idly, she wondered if they had made it back to Shield. They never met them in Belgium, which was for the best, and she had hoped to maybe run into them to warn them of the danger that was coming for Shield. But they must have turned back to seek help. Maybe they were still on the road ahead of them. Maybe she could catch up. That would be a strange experience— to arrive injured with Steve and the rest of her team gone. It would be difficult to explain that one. 

“Natasha,” Steve said, drawing her from her thoughts, “can you tell me the Baba Yaga story again?” 

He started doing this a few days ago. Not letting her retreat too much into her thoughts. Natasha was quietly grateful for it. She was tired of feeling anxious, guilty, like she was barely keeping it together. She smiled weakly over his shoulder and tapped his collarbone with her fingertips in a prodding gesture. 

“Again?” She asked lightly, “how many times is that now?” 

Steve shrugged. “I just like hearing you tell it.”

She gripped him a little more comfortably, settling against him as she recalled the story. She felt like she never told it the same way twice, but Steve never seemed to mind. 

“A long time ago there lived a merchant and his wife. They had a child, their only daughter, who was named Vasilisa…” 

As she told the story, Steve was quiet. The first time Natasha had told it, he interrupted her often to ask questions. He was angry on Vasilisa’s behalf at how cruelly she was treated, and wondered aloud why she didn’t just kill her wicked step family. That made her chuckle a bit and she had to explain that Vasilisa was too kind for that. His favourite character was Baba Yaga— Natasha couldn’t guess why. She was so scared of her as a little girl. Baba Yaga witch, an eater of children, a boogeyman, meant to keep children from misbehaving. Natasha remembered cowering under her covers when she heard the infected screeching in the distance, convinced that it was Baba Yaga searching for her. 

She was close to the end of the story now and Steve was very still in anticipation. When she told it before, he asked her to repeat the part where Vasilisa was gifted a skull with glowing eyes that burned her family alive. She didn’t mind. She liked that part as well. It gave her a little twist of amusement that he seemed to have such a clear sense of justice still. The wicked were punished and the heroine won in the end. That had always been something she had heard about Captain America— that he was just and fair. 

When she finished the story, Steve asked for another. She told him two more, even reusing the same fairy tales she had told him at Shield to see if he recognized them. He didn’t. But he really seemed to enjoy them all the same. He never asked her about himself or about the time he had spent with her before all of this again. When he had helped to dress her one morning, he discovered the scarred over punctures his claws had left when he grabbed her during their first encounter. When he looked up at her questioningly, she was grim. His thumb brushed over the old wounds lightly, his fingers aligning with the marks in a strangely perfect match and his face darkened a little. He seemed to want to leave it all behind after that and Natasha was glad for it. She didn’t want to remember what he was before all of this any more than he did. It seemed like a good opportunity to start over. 

After her stories, they switched to a game of would you rather. Natasha walked beside Steve for a little this time, wanting to stretch her legs. He was thoughtful as he considered her would you rather question. She found it a little endearing that he always took it so seriously. 

“I guess I’d rather have no elbows than no knees,” he said very sincerely, “running is pretty important to me.” 

Natasha nodded, a little smile playing at her lips. That had been her answer too, when Sam asked the question initially. They’d asked some pretty wild ones over the years, and Clint always had the best questions, Sam always the funniest answers. She imagined Clint with them, picturing the way that he would tease Steve for his earnestness, or laugh at his questions. She inhaled and closed her eyes, turning her face to bask in the sun.  _ Natasha, _ she could hear him ask,  _ would you rather kill your best friend or let him turn? _ Her eyes opened and she stared at the blue of the sky until spots danced on her vision. She faltered a little, slowing her pace, causing Steve to stop and look at her. She must’ve missed his question. 

“Natasha?” 

She gave him a wan smile. “I’m fine, it’s nothing,” she said. 

He looked like he didn’t believe her. “We’re not far now, let me carry you.” 

She didn’t argue this time. 

As they approached the safehouse, Natasha was so weary. She was looking forward to crashing on a bedroll for the night. It had been a long day. At least ten hours now, and she was so ready to rest for more than half hour increments. She could see the safehouse, tucked discreetly from the main roads into the dense overgrowth of the encroaching treeline. She fumbled with her pockets, looking for the key and imagining herself curled up and sleeping already. When she reached for the door, Steve stopped her, a deep frown on his face. Natasha looked at him questioningly, and he guided her backward a little. “Something’s wrong,” he said quietly. 

She hadn’t noticed in her haste, but the door was ajar slightly, the deadbolt broken. The steel of the door was bent, warped in finger-like shapes where someone— something, had wrenched it open. Fear, sharp and metallic, coated her tongue and the back of her throat. She backed up a little, gaze meeting Steve’s before he turned and threw the door open, entering the darkness of the safehouse. In the afternoon sun, Natasha suddenly felt too hot, sweat prickling her hairline as she waited, axe in hand. From the darkness she could see little black dots scatter into the air and disappear. 

_ Flies. _

Steve emerged moments later, a grim look on his face. “We need to move,” he said, voice tense. 

Natasha’s stomach dropped as it registered that the safehouse was no more. The familiar sweet and pungent smell of decay hit her and she swallowed and turned away. Fuck. She didn’t want to look, but she could guess who might be in there— the rest of her team. With shaking fingers she dug through her pack and withdrew the safehouse map. She found their location and hastily scratched out the dot on the map with an ‘x’.  _ Fuck _ . Natasha scanned the map, searching for the next nearest safehouse. Was this Hydra? The little marks on the map didn’t seem to register with her. Were any of these places safe anymore? Were they all compromised? Steve touched her back lightly, making her jump and look at him in a panic. 

“Natasha,” he said gently, “Is there somewhere we can go for the night?” 

His question refocused her a little and she studied the map a little more intently. The next nearest location on the route was twenty five kilometers away. They’d never make it before night fall. She traced the lines on the map again, there was a decommissioned safehouse eight kilometers away. It was a detour, and it wouldn’t be secured, or restocked, but it might be their best hope right now. 

The next few hours were tense. Natasha set the course and they navigated the rough terrain as best they could with Natasha’s injuries. She slowed them down considerably and they took longer than she anticipated to arrive. By the time Natasha could spot the old farmhouse in the distance, it was near dark. The stars glittered overhead like eyes. As they approached Natasha’s heart sank. The safehouse had been gutted by fire long ago. No wonder it had been decommissioned. She squeezed Steve’s shoulders tightly and he set her down to inspect the burnt out building herself. Dread began to settle over her as she surveyed the charred brick walls, the sagging roof and the open doorway. When she looked back at Steve in the fading light. He was tense, brows knitted into an expression of worry as he watched her deflate. 

“There has to be another place,” Steve said, unable to watch as she was sure the hope visibly began to drain from her. 

But Natasha just shook her head. This was it. Steve exhaled sharply, unable to accept this was their only option. He disappeared behind the back of the building and Natasha withdrew her axes, preparing for a rough night ahead. A fog was settling in, blanketing the treeline in a dark haze. She watched the field, an overgrown tangle of waist-high grass and weeds, dense trees, and crumbling buildings. The remnants of a plane sat rusting, destroyed on the ground where it had crashed. It was nearly too dark to make out any details, she couldn’t see more than a few meters into the darkening treeline in the distance. There were too many places the horde could come from and no good line of sight. They were exposed out here. 

A soft noise from her right drew her attention and Natasha snapped her attention toward it. From the field an infected creature approached, eyes wide and ravenous. It chewed the mangled flesh of its arm, tearing chunks of flesh away as it wandered dazedly toward Natasha. They were starting to wake up now. From the fog, more emerged, creeping in in a slow daze as if they had just woken up from a nap. 

“Steve,” she said evenly, trying not to alarm the horde. Her voice shook as she did her best to suppress the awful terror that bloomed in her. 

Hastily, Natasha reached into her pocket and withdrew a flare. It was a risk to set it off, but she wasn’t about to fight in the dark with an unknown number of infected. She struck it, and the horde shrieked in a chorus of voices. The first infected to appear backed away a little at the sudden burst of light and Natasha threw the flare by its feet, the movement making her wince in pain. She almost wished she hadn’t done that. In the near darkness, the red flare illuminated the horde, reflecting their eyes. Sets of orbs approached like swarms of fireflies from the field around her. 

“Steve!” she cried, gripping her axes tightly. A chorus of howls and gnashing teeth answered. Where would the attack come from first? Which infected would be the one to tear into her? A growl, low and ravenous sounded from the fog and Natasha whirled to face it. When she took her gaze from the first infected, it stepped closer with a snarl. They seemed to surround, to envelop. There would be nothing left of her when they were finished. Distantly, Natasha wondered how many of them she would feed. 

A growl, low and threatening sounded from behind her and she whirled, axe raised, terrified that she had let one get behind her. From the darkness of the burned out building, Steve emerged, bathed in the red light of the flare, teeth bared, eyes flashing like a nocturnal predator. His hands were flexed, claws wickedly sharp. He looked like a nightmare. Natasha’s breath hitched when she saw him, but her attention snapped back to the horde around her when she heard an unhinged, desperate howl. She had taken her eyes from them and the ravenous, the ones driven insane by their thirst, rushed forward. 

Natasha whirled, the movement sending a wave of pain through her battered ribs. She counted five attackers and she barely raised her weapon before Steve lunged forward with a hair-raising snarl and caught the first infected with a jab that shattered its sternum and ribs with a loud crack. It gave a soft, rattling gasp as it crumpled violently to the ground, heart ruptured. He grabbed another as it rushed in, pulling it to him and sinking his teeth deep into its throat. It squealed and writhed until Steve bit out its windpipe and threw its squirming body at the third and fourth, knocking them into a snarling, writhing, wheezing pile. 

He pinned the fifth infected with just a look. It flinched like a kicked dog and cowed, retreating back into the safety of the horde. Steve spat the infected attacker’s throat at his feet and turned his attention to the remaining three infected. The one with the now gaping throat had removed itself from the tangle, groveling and choking and wheezing on the ground as it scrambled to crawl away from him. The other two twisted over one another, still reaching for Natasha. They were too far gone with thirst to have any sense of self preservation. Natasha could only watch Steve with a sense of helpless terror as he descended on them with such rancor, such utter venom and hostility that she backed away. He was smiling.

Steve slashed his claws through the first’s face, rending flesh from bone in gory slices. It squirmed and collapsed back onto the second. Steve grabbed it, hauling it up violently before jabbing his claws below its sternum. Natasha saw his hand disappear into the creature like a macabre ventriloquist. Blood gushed from its mouth, frozen open in a frenzied howl. It went limp when Steve crushed its heart and he dropped it unceremoniously on the ground. The other never took its gaze from Natasha, struggling and kicking all the while to get at her. 

Even when Steve pinned it, crushing his knee into its stomach, it kept writhing and watching Natasha ravenously, eyes flashing in the light of the flare. Its continued fixation on her seemed to set Steve off and he leaned in, squeezing the creature’s face and forcing it to look at him instead. It finally tore its gaze from Natasha, rasping softly as it looked desperately up at Steve like it was begging him to let it have her. He bared his teeth in a terrible sneer before he adjusted his grip to slowly push his thumbs into its eyes. It kicked and screamed as he pressed deeper, drawing blood and thick, vitreous fluid. 

“Mine _ ,”  _ he snarled through bared teeth as he withdrew his thumbs from its eye sockets. He let it squirm for a moment, its cries echoing over the horde and into the night air, before he drove his fist into its face, crushing its nose with a wet crunch. “ _ Mine.”  _

The horde shifted quietly, the only sound was Steve’s frenzied panting and the sound of his fists reducing the creature’s face to meat. Natasha felt sick as she watched him, his eyes inhuman and glowing in the red light. She wanted to make him stop, this was so beyond protecting her, but couldn’t find her voice. Long after the creature beneath him had stilled, its face an unrecognizable mush, Steve finally sat back, idly wiping the blood from his face. He stood and faced the horde, who watched him, magnetized. 

“ _ Leave _ ,” he ordered, voice ragged and wild. 

They obeyed, dissolving into the darkness, glowing eyes disappearing one by one like sparks into the night air. 

The hiss of the flare was the only sound between them. Natasha’s heart hammered furiously against her ribs as she watched Steve, silhouetted in the stark red lighting. He was still tense, hands still flexed and dripping blood, broad shoulders rising and falling as he struggled to control himself. In the harsh lighting she couldn’t stop herself from surveying his body, the planes of muscle under the bloodstained fabric of his clothes. He looked lithe, dangerous— like he was designed for killing. When he turned to face her, his silver eyes caught the light, turning them into unreadable glowing orbs. The hair on the back of Natasha’s neck stood on end and she backed away another half step. Steve wiped his bloody mouth with an air of nonchalance, as if he hadn’t just ripped apart four infected like it was nothing. He spat again, frowning at the taste of horde blood in his mouth.

“There’s a door to a basement area around back,” he said, continuing their conversation as if nothing had happened. but to Natasha, he sounded distant, like he spoke under water.

Natasha clenched the handles of her axes tightly when he moved.

“Natasha?” he asked softly. She shook herself a little and exhaled sharply at the sound of her name. “Are you okay?”

She didn’t know. It felt like a terrible realization. She was prepared to fight and die, it seemed miraculous that she was still here. But she was still tensed, still ready to fight for her life. It made her sick that her savior made her feel this way. 

“I’m fine,” she said. 

Steve nodded and picked up the flare, throwing his face into a strange abstraction of light and shadow. He gently touched Natasha’s arm, snapping her to attention. 

“Lets go,” he said quietly, eyes glinting in the light of the flare.

Numbly, Natasha returned her axes to their holsters and let Steve guide her to what he had found around the back. It was a small root cellar dug into the earth behind the farmhouse. The doors were flimsy and wooden, but at least they wouldn’t be surrounded by the horde. Natasha bristled at the thought. Steve had driven them away and she wasn’t sure if they would attempt to return again. Steve threw the doors open and descended into the darkness below. This must have been where he went before while she was cornered by the infected. He paused on the steps and turned around to look at her. She hesitated before following him in. 

The air was chilled and damp. Cobwebs clung to the sagging ceiling in the little room. Steve bowed to keep his head from hitting the roof. Thick columns of decaying wood supported the walls and roof and Natasha touched one absently as she stepped further into the darkness. It was stuffy and claustrophobic, but it was better than taking their chances in the open air. Natasha swallowed hard, trying to shake the nervousness from her. The immediate threat was gone, but she was still on high alert. She settled for unpacking her gear while Steve searched in the dark, leaving the flare with her. Natasha jumped a little when he returned, carrying a Shield-issue supply cache bag. Whoever was here before must’ve moved whatever they could from the safehouse. The gear looked to be going on at least ten years old, but there were a few supplies of use. A tarp, a moth-eaten woolen blanket, a lantern and a lighter. 

Natasha busied herself with making a sleeping area on the earthen floor while Steve worked on lighting the lantern. A soft, yellow glow chased away the dark and Steve took the hissing, smoking flare and extinguished the lit end into the dirt. When he turned to face her, she blanched. He was covered in blood. It smeared his face, tracking down his neck and shoulders. His hands were stained with it, painting his forearms dark red. 

Steve frowned and followed her gaze to look down at himself. He sighed a little as he observed his ruined shirt and gore painted hands. Spying Natasha’s bag he stripped his shirt unceremoniously, tossing it into a bloody heap on the floor. In the pale lighting, Natasha was transfixed by the bits of bone and gore that clung to his skin and the hair on his chest. She was horrified. The little cellar suddenly felt stifling and she swallowed the fear that rose in her. He withdrew the towel and one of the spare shirts he had packed for himself with a little smile. 

“Didn’t think I’d be needing this so soon,” he observed. 

His humour fell flat in the musty air of the root cellar and Natasha could only offer him a weak smile in response. Steve stopped towelling the blood from his face and body to face her, smile fading. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Natasha hadn’t realized she had frozen until his words snapped her back to reality. She couldn’t place what was wrong. He shook off the violence of his actions like it was nothing. She had fought with him before, but this was something else. It was like he had lost control of himself. What he did wasn’t like when they were fighting for their lives. It was cruel, sadistic— something so typical of an infected. Natasha tucked her flyaways behind her ear and studied the floor at her feet. 

“I’m just…” she began, looking at Steve again. He was anxiously wanting to see what had upset her so much, eyes catching the yellow glow of the lantern and reflecting it back at her. Was she being irrational? Steve was so gentle now, so attentive. He had saved her life back there and she hadn’t even thanked him for it. “I think I’m just tired,” she said. 

Steve eyed her cautiously and continued to clean the gore from his body. 

“You’ve had a long day,” he said evenly, keeping his focus on the task at hand. His long lashes cast little shadows under his eyes in the warm light. “Why don’t you try and get some rest? I’ll make sure the horde doesn’t come back.” 

Natasha sighed and shook herself a little. He was her partner now. Despite his… quirks… she had to trust him. She couldn’t freeze like that every time he fought. He didn’t fight like a human because he wasn’t one. As much as she had started to think that he had been, it was foolish of her to put that expectation on him. She forgot what he was, sometimes. Though he had a little sliver of humanity, a shred of something kind and good, he wasn’t as human as he seemed. There was still this side of him that she hadn’t seen in what felt like ages. If she was truly his partner, she would have to get used to seeing that, too.

Natasha took the small tarp from the supply cache bag and laid it on the damp earth against the far wall. She settled on it, using the wool blanket to try and keep the chill from her. It was at least a few degrees colder here than it was outside and she shivered for a moment, nestled on the ground against her pack. As the adrenaline began to fade from her, her limbs became like lead weights. It didn’t take long for her eyes to droop. She wasn’t lying when she said that she was tired. They had been going almost nonstop for the whole day. Everything ached, especially now that she was no longer in fight mode. Natasha grunted and held her tender ribs, her fingers cold against the mottled skin. For a while the pain that seeped into her muscles kept her awake, but eventually exhaustion won out and she crashed, dozing on her makeshift bed while Steve moved silently about the small room. 

It was dark when she opened her eyes again. The soft light of the lantern still shone, casting long, strange shadows across the ceiling like odd, angular puzzle pieces. Natasha felt heavy, sluggish, like she had been sleeping for a long time. It couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. She moved to sit up, but found she couldn’t. She was woozy, her head spun. Feeling trapped in her own heavy body, Natasha floundered, moving her head to look at her hands. Her wrists were split open, skin peeled back like a zipper. She lay in a pool of her own blood. Panic worked its way through her and she struggled and cried out hoarsely. 

Wildly, she searched the room for help but froze when she spotted Steve emerging from the shadows. He crouched at her feet, drenched in crimson, licking his fingers idly. A deranged smile spread across his face when he noticed the panic, the fear radiating from her. Unfurling himself to crawl over her, he pinned her to the floor. Natasha’s breaths came in ragged, uneven pants as he settled on top of her. Fear, paralyzing, all consuming, gripped her like a vice. Steve leaned in and kissed her throat. The pressure left icy trails across her skin and she choked, begging him not to. Instead she felt his teeth graze her skin. “Mine” he breathed, teeth red and glinting, “ _ Mine _ .” Natasha screamed. 

The scream pulled her out of sleep, startling Steve, who hovered just in front of her. Upon seeing him, Natasha scrambled away, the feeling of his teeth on her throat still with her. She shook, sweat beading at her hairline and neck. She had no idea when she grabbed it, but Natasha realized she held her blade and pointed it at him with shaking hands. Her eyes were wide with terror and she couldn’t shake the fear from her. Steve backed off, retreating to the wall across from her. His lips moved but she couldn’t hear him over the sound of her thundering heart. 

“Natasha?” he asked quietly.

He had likely tried to get her attention before, but she couldn’t hear him through the haze of fear. She focused hard on the sound of his voice. It sent a chill through her, but it was much kinder than it had been in her dream. Steve had cleaned the blood from himself and changed into a new set of clothes. That was a small reassurance. Natasha took a moment to study him, convincing herself it wasn’t real. There was no blood, no red ribbons sliced into her wrists. That hadn’t happened. But the image still remained, when she closed her eyes she could see blood dribbling down the back of her eyelids, smothering and drowning her. She could still smell it in the air. Natasha worked on controlling her breathing, trying to shake the awful feeling of dread from her.

Steve watched her carefully, unsure of how to proceed. “Are you okay?” he asked. 

Natasha could only nod dumbly, finally feeling like she could breathe a little and sheathed her knife with shaking fingers. It didn’t help that in her panic she had aggravated her tender ribs. Steve radiated an intense, concerned energy. He was like a caged animal, pacing, watching. But he kept his distance, afraid to touch her, afraid to send her back to whatever place she had just woken up from. 

“Do you want me to go?” 

Natasha took shallow breaths in through her nose, pushing the panic from her. It had been a while since she had a nightmare. When she had first joined Shield, she had had them often. Clint used to sit with her until she could collect herself enough to go back to sleep. She used to tell him stories in Russian. She didn’t speak any English and he didn’t have any idea what she said, but he sat and listened anyway. It was when she first felt like he was her friend. 

She sighed, bitter tears prickling in her eyes. “No, Steve,” she said after a pause.

Steve seemed to relax a little and settled more comfortably in his position across from her. They sat in silence for a while, and Natasha’s heart slowed a little. She counted the beats, eyes fluttering shut. When Steve sensed that she had calmed a bit, he broke the silence. 

“You were shouting,” he said, “you were shouting my name.” 

Natasha slid her eyes open to look at him. He looked absolutely gutted, angry with himself. A knot twisted in her stomach. He knew she had dreamed of him— knew he had terrified her. 

Steve swallowed. “Natasha, I… With the horde earlier, what I did… was that upsetting?” 

He was bitter, disgusted at the thought of scaring her. Natasha watched him a moment, remembering the look of rage as he tore into the horde. He had lost himself so completely. It scared her. She didn’t want to admit it, but it had. Natasha felt empty. This realization, this awful thought taking hold of her, twisted her in ways she couldn’t comprehend. 

“When I saw you, it scared the shit out of me, Steve,” she said quietly. 

Steve looked hurt. He seemed like he understood why she would fear him, but it didn’t stop him from becoming shut off, introspective. 

“I just— You were so full of hatred,” Natasha continued, “I just don’t understand what came over you. I was scared to see you like that. What was that?” 

Steve frowned, and rubbed his neck. He was quiet, trying to think of a way to explain his behaviour. He seemed to struggle to put it into words and Natasha supposed he had never had to talk about it before.

“There’s a sort of connection I can feel with the horde. Like they know what I am— infected, but not one of them,” he said softly, “I can control them through violence. Through domination. They are suggestible, totally driven by their needs, and that makes them weak willed. They listen if I make them. If I show them where they belong.” 

Natasha swallowed and willed herself to stop shaking. She clasped her hands over her wrists. It was hard to hear him talk about this. His explanation provided little comfort, though a part of her was interested to know how the Old Ones controlled the horde. Oddly, she pitied the horde in a strange, detached way. Pitied them that the Old Ones treated them in the same way they treated humans. Steve smiled wanly, and had the grace to look away.

“Is that why you…” She took a breath, willing herself not to sound so childishly afraid, “is that why you destroyed them like that? To control them?” 

Steve exhaled and ran his hand through his hair. “Yes,” he said, “but I’d be lying if I said that was the only reason why I did what I did.” He looked at her, silver eyes piercing. “I can’t stand them,” he admitted quietly, “They remind me of what I am… and when they looked at you like that— like you were…  _ meat _ .”

Steve’s expression became flinty, tight with anger and Natasha tensed, the nightmare still fresh on her mind. Seeing this, Steve did his best to relax, uncurling his fists, relaxing his shoulders. He worked to control himself. To remain calm.He had a strange edge to him that she had never seen before. 

“At that point it wasn’t about control,” he said quietly, “I could’ve stopped. I had their attention, their submission after I killed the first two. But I wanted them to suffer. I wanted them to pay for thinking they had any right to look at you like that.”

His words chilled her to her core. He sounded like Madame Hydra. “I was afraid. I don’t want to lose you, Natasha. I was so scared to lose you. When I saw all of them surrounding you, I just— I lost it.” 

Natasha swallowed and turned her gaze to the floor. She knew he was trying to protect her, but she was scared of what he could become. She couldn’t just put aside years of training, loss, heartbreak and hatred when he acted so much like the thing that she was most afraid of. Steve was a good man. There was a kindness to him, a gentleness, an earnest innocence that put her at ease. Now that they were together so often, without the interference of Shield, or Madame Hydra, or anyone else, she was seeing that more and more. He was good. She knew he was. But she was terrified, deep down, of that darkness taking hold of him again. Natasha was afraid to lose him, too. 

Natasha exhaled and closed her eyes, exhausted. “You saved my life,” she said quietly, “I don’t mean to be ungrateful…”

She moved to sit back more comfortably, but her body seized in pain. She pushed herself too hard today. Natasha groaned in pain, the adrenaline slowly ebbing from her, she felt worse than she did before, her battered body protested the slightest movement. Gritting her teeth, Natasha clutched at her ribs and screwed her eyes tightly closed. She opened them when she felt Steve’s cool touch on her arms. 

“It’s okay” he said with a sad smile. “Sometimes I forget myself. I forget what I am. We’re not the same, you and me. You’re you and I’m…” 

There was a sadness to his features as he gently helped her to lie back down and Natasha suddenly felt a rush of heat burn through her as she watched him. “Different.” 

He looked like he hated himself. Hated the thing that controlled him, twisted him into a monster. Seeing she was alright, Steve moved to stand, to give her space but Natasha grasped his wrist. He seemed surprised at the contact and his lips parted questioningly. 

“You’re not a monster, Steve,” she said, watching him very seriously. Steve swallowed hard, unable to look at her. He didn’t seem like he quite believed what she said. Natasha tugged him gently until he sat with her, his back pressed against the wall behind them. “Look at me,” she said gently. Steve pursed his lips and flicked his eyes to hers. He seemed so hesitant, so unsure. Natasha took his hand in hers, and he briefly looked down to where she touched him. “I know you’re not a monster, Steve. I know that’s not who you are.” 

Natasha shifted, uncomfortable with her candidness. She didn’t like being so open, but Steve deserved it. He had been open and honest with her, even before he had forgotten her. Maybe even when he was cruel and twisted, in his own way. He deserved to know she didn’t hate him, at least. Steve squeezed her hand a little in response and Natasha met his gaze again. He looked at her with such reverence that it made Natasha squirm a bit and she let go of his hand. He was speechless, even a little flustered and they descended into silence. 

Natasha nestled back into her bed, laying back to watch the angular shadows on the ceiling. It was quiet, strangely stifling in the dampness of the cellar and she pulled the musty blanket under her chin. She knew she should sleep, but she wasn’t weary enough now. She felt awake, too stimulated to even dream of dozing off. Tiredness pulled at her, her body begged her to rest, but her mind was wide awake. 

Feeling the quietness threaten to swallow her up and take her back to that awful place in her mind, Natasha spoke, letting whatever came to mind pour out of her mouth to fill up the space between them. She gave Steve her own memories, telling him about her family. Her mother’s garden— how she kept a shred of beauty in such a bleak, terrible world. How her father used to swing her high in the air, how he called her моя звезда,  _ my star _ . It seemed strange to tell him that, to speak a language she hadn’t used in years. She told him that too— spoke to him in the language she had lost, offering only bits and scraps of what she remembered. She looked up at Steve and gave him little pieces of her that she hadn’t shared in so long, she nearly forgot they were part of her. How she used to lie in the field and pretend as a little, protected by the sunlight. She pretended she was Carter, she was Captain America, she was Natasha Romanoff, Shield hunter.

Natasha’s temple rested against the side of his leg as she stared at the dark shadows on the ceiling. Steve waited quietly for her to continue and she could feel him shift restlessly against her. How long had she talked? Her eyes felt heavy now, lids half shut as she breathed quietly. It didn’t matter, she supposed. But her last admission had made her become a little withdrawn. It was painful to think about, hard to open herself like this. She had never told Clint these things. He knew enough about her mother, about her father— but not about her, she had never wanted to talk about herself. 

“When I was a girl, Shield hunters— Clint, saved me,” Natasha continued softly, “I joined Shield soon after…” she fell silent again as she watched the flicker of the lantern. “I could’ve joined the colony of survivors, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to live with my head down, or have that chance at a peaceful existence if it meant I lived on eggshells.” 

Steve listened to her quietly, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him. She was afraid she wouldn’t be able to finish if she did. “When I joined Shield, I put aside all of that childish pretending. I never wanted to dream like that again.” Natasha sighed, staring hard at the ceiling through the bitter tears threatening to spill from her. “It seemed like a self fulfilling prophecy. Like my dreams had made it happen somehow. Natasha Romanoff... Shield hunter.” 

Her words landed between them like an awful weight. She had so much guilt over what she had done. When Hydra had infected her village, spreading the disease with chemical bombs through the streets, she had been playing pretend that day too. She hadn’t been at home with her father when he was infected like she was supposed to be. She had run outside to play hunter instead. Why had she lived? Why did she get to survive when everyone else she knew was gone? There was no cosmic reason for it, she wasn’t anything special— and yet there she was. Surviving. From that day on, Natasha had decided, her life was no longer her own. It belonged to others; the people she lost, the ones who were still here. Survivors like her. She became a weapon for them. And weapons didn't have wills, desires, fears— they were only meant to be wielded. That's all she had wanted after her life was shattered. She wanted purpose and order and a chance to make sure that nobody else had to lose everything as she had. 

Slowly Steve reached out and brushed the hair from her forehead, gently smoothing it back, the pads of his fingers skimming her temple. Goosebumps raced across Natasha’s skin at his touch and her eyes fluttered. She must’ve talked at him for hours, but his touch suddenly made her feel the full weight of how tired she was. Natasha struggled, wanting to fight it, but her body wouldn’t let her. It felt nice. She couldn’t remember the last time she had felt like this. Steve stroked her hair back, claws tickling her scalp as he splayed her hair out behind her head like a red halo. 

A tingling warmth bloomed from the crown of Natasha’s head and spread down her body like wildfire. She wanted to escape this, to close herself off. It was easier, she told herself, nothing could break her if she felt nothing, if she had nobody to lose. But it was too late, once she opened herself to him, she couldn’t close herself off again. The fear in her twisted her insides, telling her that she would lose everything again. Steve ran his fingers through her hair and Natasha melted further into her makeshift bed, the voice inside her disappearing. It was easy with Steve. Easy to make believe she was a girl again lying in the sun, not caring about the sunburn heating her cheeks as the tall grass scratched and tickled her skin— she was untouchable. Stronger than diamond. He made it easy for her to feel that way. Easy for her to play pretend that she would never hurt again. It was a foolish,  _ dangerous  _ notion. 

“If you could have anything,” Steve said, voice like warm honey, low and soothing, “if you didn’t have to fight anymore… what would you want to do?” 

Natasha was quiet for a while, lips trying to form sentences. She wanted to tell him to stop, to leave her be. Tenderness served no purpose, gentleness had no place in her life as a hunter. But she lost her train of thought with every lingering caress of her skin, every slow brush of her hair. Natasha felt herself slide further into sleep. She imagined Steve’s expression, perhaps he found it amusing to make her drift off like this. She pictured his lips in a half smile as he lazily brushed his fingers through her hair, infinitely patient, as he waited for her to answer. Natasha turned her face toward him slightly, eyes peeling open. 

Sleepily, she answered, “I think… I’d have a garden... like my mother’s....” 

Steve hummed, running his fingers through her hair and sending another wave of tingling heat through Natasha. Natasha leaned into his touch, eyes too heavy to keep open. 

“That sounds beautiful, Natasha.” 

She sighed as he traced the ridge of her cheekbone with his knuckles before tucking her flyaways behind her ear. It was quiet for a moment, Natasha focused on the sound of her even breaths and the heavenly sensation of Steve’s deft fingers toying with her hair. When he spoke again she only registered the timbre, the depth of his voice as it reverberated through her. His fingers passed through her hair again and she surrendered, finally drifting off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow look at that, a Thursday update! I will be away this weekend, so I figured I should post the chapter a little early! Same deal, next week on Friday/Saturday/Sunday the new chapter will be up. The story Natasha tells Steve is called Vasilisa the Beautiful, which is sort of like Russian Cinderella but with 100% more flaming skulls that immolate your step family. Enjoy!


	17. No Man is an Island

The next three days were a tough slog. Natasha directed them back on the safe house network, only to have her worst fears confirmed. The bunkers and safe houses were being actively sabotaged. Sometimes it was little things like broken locks, supplies missing, other times the entire safehouse was razed, scrubbed from the earth. Natasha’s safehouse map became a trail of red marks as she struck locations off. She tried to remain calm about this, rationalizing that she was keeping this information for Fury. It was vital and would demonstrate how widespread Hydra’s influence was. 

But it ate at her constantly. The only reassurance she had was that Steve was there with her. They were making good time because of him and Natasha felt an extra sense of security at night. Since Steve commanded the horde a few nights ago, she hadn’t seen them since. There would surely be more, but they kept their distance for now. But since that night, Steve had become a little more distant and introspective. Natasha wasn’t sure as to why, though she had so many things to think about, Steve’s quiet demeanour wasn’t the most pressing thing she was dealing with. 

In the grey light of day, Natasha scratched off another safehouse from the map with a frown. She stood in the ruin of the building, searching for anything that they might be able to use. Provisions were starting to run low and she had to hope that her next stop would have something there that she could use. Steve stood behind her as she searched, watching the horizon intently. With a shaky exhale, Natasha gripped the map tightly and limped onward, holding her bruised ribs as she did. Steve spent a moment or two more in the ruined safehouse before he fell into step beside her. She sighed absently, keeping strong pressure on her bruised side. 

“How are you feeling?” Steve asked gently, eyeing her hand over her ribs. 

Natasha swallowed and leaned against him, suddenly grateful for the contact. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “Everything still hurts.” Long days on the road weren’t helping her heal any faster, but it wasn’t like she had any other choice. Especially not when every safehouse she came across was sabotaged. Steve appraised her coolly and swallowed, clearly wishing she would rest. But they had been over this again and again and he knew not to press the issue. Even though it had been over a week since Madame Hydra had nearly killed her, her body still ached. She still wasn’t fast enough to travel without Steve’s help. But she was determined to do this. She had to do this. She would make it back to Shield even if it meant she had to crawl. 

“I’m doing better than I was… but my ribs…”

“It’ll take time, Natasha,” Steve said. 

She sighed, frustrated. “But I don’t have time,” she mumbled, “I don’t have time for this.” 

“I know.” 

They fell into a sullen silence as Natasha walked on. Steve followed behind her, slowing down considerably. It seemed odd that he didn’t push to carry her today. He had always offered before, even outright insisted that he do it, but today he was quiet, withdrawn. Natasha would be lying if she said she didn’t want him to argue with her about carrying her. That would be normal, routine even. She glanced at him, but he seemed miles off. His expression was alarmingly distant. He seemed tired, achingly hollow. It was off putting to see him like this. 

Natasha paused and Steve nearly bumped into her. He snapped from his strange reverie and appraised her with a flicker of exasperation. 

“Where are we going?” he asked, shaking himself a little. 

Natasha pursed her lips and watched him for a beat. Something was a little off, but he seemed uncomfortable under her scrutiny and she turned her attention back to the map she had been tightly scrunching in her sweaty hand. Carefully she unfolded it and circled the next safehouse location. It was located just outside of an old town, so they would have a few more options in case that one was destroyed as well. 

“It’s another twenty five kilometers south of us.” she said. 

Steve sighed and rubbed his temples like he had a migraine. They walked on in silence again, Natasha trying to work up the words to ask him what was wrong, when he stopped her with a firm touch on her arm. She turned, searching him with an air of concern, but he just stooped to allow her to get on his back. Hesitantly, Natasha did, knowing that it would save a lot of time if he carried her. Maybe he was upset over the destroyed safe houses, or for scaring her when he confronted the horde a few nights ago. He hadn’t really been the same since then. Steve shifted her into position and set off on a much faster pace than the one they had a moment ago. He was silent, rigid beneath her grasp and Natasha settled more comfortably against him. 

“Steve,” she said quietly and he hummed in acknowledgement. “If something was bothering you, would you tell me?” 

He was quiet for a moment and she shifted, trying to look at his face, but he didn’t move, or turn around to look at her. 

“I’m fine,” he said finally. 

But she could feel it in her chest as she leaned against him. His heart was racing. 

They made the trek to the next safehouse, in record time. Steve was like a man possessed as he surged ahead. He seemed to want to get to the safehouse just as much as Natasha did, and she was pleased that they were travelling so quickly. Whatever had gotten Steve so antsy seemed to have passed and he was back to silently watching the horizon as he carried her. He remained a little withdrawn for the whole time and Natasha retreated into her thoughts as well. She often rehearsed the report she would make to Fury. She would imagine going to the lab to find a more viable cure waiting for her. It was silly, and maybe a little naive, but it made leaving Clint so much more bearable if she believed she had a chance to save him. She sighed and shook herself a little on Steve’s back. Oddly it felt like she had the back of his head, the way his eyelashes curved, the moles and marks on his cheek and neck, the blackened veins of infection, memorized by now. It wasn’t like she had much else to look at. There were only so many trees she could take in before it all blurred together. She sighed and studied the hangnails on her fingers instead. She hadn’t approached the subject with Steve yet, but she wanted to try night travel. After seeing that he could manipulate the horde, she wanted to start making headway at night. They could cut their travel time in half if they did… 

Steve soldiered on, totally in his own head. Natasha patted his shoulder gently and he snapped from his thoughts and stole a glance over his shoulder at her. 

“We’re nearly there now,” she said softly, “I can walk from here.” 

He turned back to the road and let her down. Natasha took a moment to stretch, and then continued the short distance to the safehouse, planning her next moves. As they approached the safehouse, Natasha made herself jog ahead. From this distance it looked like— She flooded with relief. The building was still standing. It was an old military bunker, much harder to destroy than farmhouses and converted homes. She cautiously approached the sturdy wedge of concrete, trying not to get her hopes up too much… But Natasha was surprised to find that the door was still locked and she withdrew her key hastily. She unlocked it to find that the rooms were still intact. Nothing was out of place. The bedrolls still lined the walls, weapons and food caches were still locked and in their locations. She couldn’t stop the little smile, the flutter of joy in her stomach. They had finally gotten ahead of Hydra. If they could keep up this pace, she would be back in time to warn Shield of their impending attack, she had a chance of saving her home.

To her left, there was a little bathroom area. Cautiously, Natasha entered to find more food and medical stores. There was a little makeshift shower with a full tank of water and spare uniforms. She laughed a little in disbelief. She would be able to restock her supplies here and if all went well, they might be relatively safe for the rest of the trip. She could work on convincing Steve to travel nights. 

Natasha turned and left the bunker excitedly, wanting to tell Steve the good news. When she stepped into the afternoon light, squinting against the brightness, he was gone. Natasha frowned and searched the horizon for any sign of him. 

“Steve?” she said, looking around for him. 

There was no reply but the wind whipping up the overgrowth and whistling softly through the trees. Natasha swallowed, trying to suppress her unease. She went behind the bunker, searching for him there. The shadows of the encroaching tree line seemed menacing, abstract in the high afternoon sun. Natasha exhaled sharply and went a little further down the road, thinking maybe he had backtracked. He was right behind her less than a minute ago. But there was no sign of him. 

“Steve?!” She cried, voice echoing through the empty air. 

With a frown, she made the stiff and agonizing walk up the road, thinking he might have kept going for whatever reason. It was a twenty-five minute walk to the edge of the old town that sat like an oddity in the tangle of shrubs, moss, and vines. It was in ruins, buildings decaying and standing empty like forgotten tombs. They seemed to judge her and she didn’t want to go any closer. Where could he have gone? 

“Steve!” she called again. 

The tangle of old buildings and overgrowth swallowed her voice, making her sound small, childlike. Natasha swiped at the sweat beading on her hairline, eyes feverishly roaming the structures for any sign of movement. But there was nothing. It was like Steve was never here. There was no trace of him. 

Natasha’s heart hammered in her ears.The shadows of the crumbling town revealed nothing and the wind kicked up dervishes and moaned through the empty buildings like a phantom. She felt like she was being watched by thousands of eyes, and backed away a few steps toward the safety of the bunker. 

When she returned to the safehouse, holding her ribs tightly to steady herself against the pain, she no longer felt safe. Her mouth felt like cotton, her stomach sour. He wouldn’t just leave her like that, would he? Natasha pursed her lips. She didn’t have the energy to search for him right now. By her calculations, she figured that she had about four hours before sunset. If she ventured too far and was caught out alone, she would be dead for sure. Her battered ribs guaranteed that she couldn’t move nearly as fast or as far as she would like, and she couldn’t help the uneasy feeling she got from the town nearby. There were too many places the infected could be hiding there. She sighed and watched the open doorway. It wasn’t like Steve needed her protection, but she couldn’t help but feel that something was very wrong. 

Natasha prepped the bunker instead, setting out her bedroll and nighttime supplies, taking new provisions for tomorrow. She made herself eat something, but it tasted ashy in her mouth as she watched the open doorway, waiting. With a sigh, she shook herself and went out to look for Steve again. It was as if he was swallowed up by the air itself. She couldn’t explain why he would abandon her like that and it turned over and over in her thoughts. She kept an eye on the light, searching and calling for him until the sun cast long shadows on the ground. It was then that Natasha turned in for the evening. 

As the light faded, Steve never returned. Natasha locked and secured the doors, and turned on the bunker lantern when it became too dark to see, but he still didn’t come back. She sat up for as long as she could stand, waiting for him, but there was nothing. No knock on the door or shuffle outside. Sitting up with the lantern still on, her eyes slid shut as she dozed. She shook herself, trying to stay awake, but she was exhausted. She drifted in and out of sleep, still deeply worried by Steve’s sudden disappearance… 

It was just before dawn when a sound pulled her into a sluggish awareness.

“Natasha.”

She jerked awake with a sharp gasp, thinking that she had imagined hearing her name. It was quiet. The wind whipped through the cracks of the bunker, moaning hauntingly through the little space of the safehouse. In silence, she watched the door, waiting. From the greying light, it came again. 

“Natasha.” 

Her drowsy brain struggled to comprehend the voice in the night. _ Steve. _She scrambled, half crouched on her bedroll. Her heart started racing as she stood and reached for the door. She had half a mind to kill him, she was so angry. Where the hell had he been? Why did he leave her like that? 

Her hand was on the deadbolt when she paused. Standard protocol called for her to keep the door locked until sun up. Her head was a little clearer as she shook the sleep from her and she listened a little more closely to Steve’s tone. 

“Open the door.” 

He sounded American, like Steve. But his voice had an edge to it, a distinct way of slurring together those vowels that was unfamiliar. He spoke with a hint of dangerous amusement. Natasha’s heart beat a little faster as she realized that whoever stood on the other side of the door wasn’t him. She slipped her hand off the deadbolt and grasped the hilt of her blade instead. 

The stranger outside laughed quietly and Natasha could hear him lean closer to the door. 

“Where’s your friend?” he asked. 

Natasha didn’t answer and pursed her lips. So he knew she was alone. Had he been watching them? And for how long? 

“Silent treatment, huh?” the stranger continued, “That’s okay. I’m not really supposed to talk to you, but I’m bored. The horde makes terrible company, as I’m sure you can imagine.” 

Natasha felt cold as she listened to the stranger. His voice had a strange quality to it, a lilting purr that made her skin prickle. He sounded like he understood how powerful he was, and he relished in holding that over her. If she hadn’t beheaded Rumlow herself, she might’ve thought it was him. 

“Are you Hydra?” she asked quietly, tightening her grip on the blade. 

There was a long sigh from the other side of the door. “So serious. _ Are you Hydra? _” he said mockingly, “There’s us and there’s you. The logistics of it don’t matter.” 

He was Hydra, then. Natasha seethed and drew her blade. She had to do something, anything, to make herself feel less small. 

“What do you want?”

There was a soft tap on the door as she imagined the stranger thoughtfully drumming his clawed fingers on its surface. 

“I told you already. I’m bored. Watching you earlier was fun. I don’t know how your friend does it. Letting you be so close like that, letting you _ touch _ him like that? I would’ve split you open ages ago. You have a lovely scent, I can only imagine what your blood must taste like.” 

Natasha snorted. She was getting tired of being intimidated by infected. More than anything, she wished they would just get to the point. She waited in silence. It wasn’t like she had much of a choice. There was no way in hell she was opening that door, and she had nowhere else to run. 

“It was a shame the horde didn’t get you the other night,” the stranger mused, “I might’ve gotten a taste then, if you hadn’t had your friend with you... ”

So he had seen them at the decommissioned farm house. Had he been the one sabotaging the safehouses? Natasha’s blood ran cold as another thought dawned on her. “Was that you?” she asked quietly, “Did you bring the horde to us?”

The stranger was quiet for a bit before he answered, totally ignoring her question. “There’s so much I want to ask your friend. But you did something to him, didn’t you? He’s not quite like us anymore.” 

Natasha swallowed and glared at the door. His non-answer was answer enough for her. Madame Hydra had said the horde were being guided and led by other Old Ones in preparation for an attack… How many of them were there? She could’ve gone her whole life without ever meeting an Old One, but now they seemed to be everywhere. Worse still, she seemed to have a talent for drawing their interest.

“What do you want with me?” she asked, growing frustrated, “Actually, better yet, tell me what are you doing out here since you’re feeling so chatty. Are you gathering the horde? Is this part of Hydra’s plan of attack?” 

If he had wanted to, the stranger outside could have led the horde to her. He could’ve overwhelmed and destroyed her before she ever made it back to Shield. But the stranger laughed and Natasha bristled. 

“So many questions. You’re funny,” he said, “I am here because I wanted to see you.”

Natasha blanched, brow furrowing in disbelief. Why? Why would he be interested in her? 

“You’re interesting, for a human,” he mused, “you managed to get an Old One under your thumb, but you haven’t made him change you, so what could you want with him? It’s interesting.”

Her lips twisted in a frown and she stayed quiet, not wanting to talk about Steve. Especially not with the Old One on the other side of the door. 

“And you killed one of our own,” he said, a dangerous edge to his voice, “I would've loved to see Madame Bitch's face when you drove the knife in. How did a human manage that?” 

A short, incredulous laugh broke from her. “I’d be happy to show you if you’d like.” 

She could practically hear the smile on the stranger’s lips as he snorted in amusement. He seemed to genuinely like her response and she heard the tap of his claws on the door handle. When he spoke again, he sounded like he leaned in closer, trying to get as near to her as the barrier between them would allow. 

“Little red haired girl,” the stranger said quietly, like he was letting her in on a secret, “ты помнишь меня? Do you remember me?” 

His question settled on her like a terrible weight. She backed away a half step and watched the door intently, face draining of colour. 

“I remember you,” the stranger’s claws traced thoughtfully down the metal of the door as he spoke, “In Russia, I saw you howling like a dog, stained with the blood of your friends and family. You had just killed your father. I remember the look on your face...”

She felt scattered, unable to formulate a response. How could he know that? He must’ve been there for the attack. He must’ve been there… 

“Who are you?” she asked, voice low with rage, “why are you here?”

The stranger chuckled, low and humourless. “I’m not surprised you don’t remember, you were nearly catatonic then.”

There was a pause. Natasha refused to speak, her heart pounded in her ears as she waited. How could he remember that? That was at least fifteen years ago, but his words proved that what he said was true. Rumlow had said Hydra was working to perfect the infection… to restore the Old Ones’ memories… could that be true as well? When it became clear that she wasn’t going to speak to him anymore, the stranger tapped the door, sending soft, hollow echoes through the room. 

“I really wish you’d let me in,” he lamented, “you’re starting to bore me.” 

Natasha knew she shouldn’t respond, but she was really starting to hate the Old One standing on the other side of the door. 

“Go fuck yourself,” she spat. 

The stranger laughed again, cruel and laced with sadistic amusement. “Charming,” he said.

His voice sounded distant, like he was further away from the door. Natasha frowned and noted the lightening sky from the lookout slits in the bunker walls. It would be sunup soon. 

“I’m sure I’ll see you soon, Red,” he promised, voice fading into the dawn. 

As suddenly as he was there, the stranger left to hide in whatever dark hole he had crawled out of. Relieved, Natasha slid her knife back into its holster and a more troubling thought took hold of her. Steve had been missing since yesterday afternoon. Worse still, now it was clear that someone had been actively following them. She knew that Steve could take care of himself, but she was still worried. 

As the sun came up, Natasha searched the area surrounding the bunker as much as her battered body would allow. She avoided the ruin of the old town, having a feeling that that was where the stranger had come from. The thought of him watching her unsettled her greatly. The whole encounter chilled her and she couldn’t get back to Shield fast enough. But she was reluctant to leave without Steve with her. She couldn’t explain it, but the feeling that he was in trouble persisted. And he was… her friend. Her partner? Was that how she felt about him? Natasha called for him, hearing his name echo back across the empty countryside. Clutching her ribs, Natasha scanned the horizon line, wracked with indecision. She knew she couldn’t search very far. It was a waste to exhaust herself like that, especially since she knew now that Hydra was in the area. 

The air yield nothing, distantly birdsong chattered from the trees. The wind whipped her hair around her face and she smoothed it down against her neck. Maybe he had left her for good. The thought made her numb. All this emotion was distracting her from her mission. She would stay here for a few more hours, then she would move on. Natasha returned to the bunker to eat some of the provisions there and pack her gear for travel. One hour bled into the next and Steve still hadn’t returned. Natasha wanted to leave, but she couldn’t make herself go without him. Maybe she did need rest... After several hours, Natasha decided to stay at the bunker. _ One more day _ , she told herself, _ one more day. _

It was near dusk when she ventured outside the bunker one more time, searching the horizon for Steve. She wasn’t going to chance being outside at dusk in case the stranger came back. She couldn’t help the nagging sensation that something was wrong. She tried to reason with herself. He was stronger than anything she had seen. He was more than capable of handling himself. Yet this unease persisted. Why had he left? Natasha was about to return to the safehouse when she saw a figure in the distance, heading her way. Instinctively, she reached for her axe and focused on the man heading toward her. Her palms prickled with sweat and she squinted against the dying light. It was Steve. 

When she spotted him, she couldn’t help but feel relief. She relaxed a little, stepping toward him. He was a distant figure, a spectre against the darkening woods. She wanted to call out to him, to scream at him, ask him what the hell he had been doing. The sense of relief she felt was so alarmingly strong, she might've run to him, hit him, touched him, anything to confirm he was real… But something stopped her. Years of hunter training, survival instincts, self preservation all screamed at her not to. Whatever she was about to say caught in her throat and she swallowed. Steve hadn’t noticed her yet, seemingly lost in thought. Natasha’s body reacted for her, and she backed away, unsure of what was setting off this warning inside her. Steve looked up as if suddenly snapping to attention. He had caught her scent finally. He smiled at her, too wide, never quite reaching his eyes. He reminded her of Mme. Hydra. Before she was aware of it, her hand was gripping the blade sheathed at her thigh. She knew this wasn’t reasonable, he was her ally. Steve finally reached her and she bristled. He stopped himself from coming closer, looking intense, almost humming with energy. 

“Where the hell were you?” Natasha asked in a low tone, “What the fuck were you thinking, leaving like that?” 

Steve looked her up and down a moment, eyes wide. “I thought I saw someone, in the woods. You were in the bunker so I followed.” 

“For the whole day?” 

She wanted to be angry, to tell him how scared she was, to tell him about the stranger’s visit, but his demeanor was so tense, so alien, that she pushed all of that aside. He seemed to shake himself a little, regaining his composure. Natasha couldn’t help the look of concern that settled on her face. “Was it that long? Sorry— I ran into the horde.” 

She hadn’t seen it before, the dark colour of his clothes and dim lighting disguising the glistening wetness. He was covered in blood. 

A chill worked its way through her. “Let’s settle in for the night.” he said, brushing past her. 

She watched him disappear into the safehouse and couldn’t shake this uneasy feeling. Natasha didn’t like his answer. He was gone all day because he was chasing someone? He had encountered violence, that much was certain… but what the hell was he doing? Natasha swallowed and warily followed him inside. Steve had already stripped his bloodied shirt and was walking into the next room to clean himself up. Natasha paused in the doorway. When she heard the sound of the shower, she relaxed a little and went over everything she needed for the next day. Madame Hydra had said that the attack would happen in a matter of weeks. Natasha couldn’t be certain of when, and she knew that the horde and Hydra wasn’t far behind them now. They had lost a day because of Steve’s strange behaviour which meant they would have to travel at night to make up for lost time. It would be an uphill battle, that was for sure. Though Natasha was glad to have Steve with her, both to keep the horde off her back and to back her up when things would become inevitably messy. She knew that she couldn’t do it without him and if she was willing to ignore this growing sense of unease, this strange wildness in him, she could make it there in time. Steve was a weapon, an advantage Shield never had before. If she could put aside her alarm as she had a few nights ago… 

Natasha stayed up planning, strategizing, preparing. She wanted to feel ready, she wanted to be ready for this. She couldn’t afford to make any mistakes, especially not now. But if she didn’t do this, if she didn’t make it back before the Hydra, then she had left Clint for nothing. She was truly a coward. Natasha felt her eyes droop and she rubbed them, pushing through the fatigue. It occurred to her that she had been at this for a while. The moon was high overhead, distantly she could hear the horde’s shrieks. They were on the move and that worried her. She imagined the stranger gathering them, leading them back to her home. She pictured Clint out there among them, wildly searching for prey. Standing abruptly, Natasha suddenly felt claustrophobic in the small room. There was nothing left for her to do for the night but sleep, and that seemed off the table. She wasn’t about to rest when the stranger was out there. Did he know that Steve had returned? Would he come back tonight as well?

Natasha stretched, the movement sending dull pain through her battered ribs. She grunted in annoyance and rubbed them gingerly. She knew they were getting better, but the restriction this injury put on her was so irritating. With a sigh, she turned to look at the closed door to the other room. It must’ve been hours at this point, and Steve was still in there. He had been eerily quiet. His strange behaviour had set her on edge. She had been actively avoiding him while she planned because she didn’t want to face him. Her response for dealing with her normal hunter partners after a crisis was to give them space until they were ready to deal with it themselves, but she had to admit she was very out of her depth when it came to Steve. She didn’t really know what he needed at all, especially when it seemed like he was changing into a different person every time she met him. That thought gave her pause. It was hard to say how much he remembered, and she had to wonder if he was actively losing more of his memories, even when he was with her… When he drank some of her blood at the compromised Shield base maybe it made him forget things again… was that why he was being so strange now?

Natasha sighed heavily. It was hard to know what Steve wanted or needed when he only ever seemed to put her first. Her eyes flicked to the door adjoining into the little bathroom. The light from the little lantern cast a sliver of golden light from under the door, but it was deathly quiet. She thought he might be better after he had a shower, but he had never come back out… Cautiously, she stood, inching her way to the closed door. She listened hard, but it was silent. 

“Steve?” she said softly. 

There was no reply. Taking a sharp breath in, Natasha placed her hand on the doorknob, her other slipped to hold the knife sheathed at her hip. Slowly, she pushed the door open. Steve stood in the corner of the room. He was still dressed in his bloodied pants, skin still painted red with blood. He was watching the wall, sucking ildy at his own wrist. Dark blood ran down his arm and dripped from his elbow. The skin on his forearm was shredded and littered with bite marks. What little water was stored for the shower had long been used up. The shower head slowly dripped, sounding thunderous in the vacuum of silence between them. Trance-like Steve turned to her, pulling his wrist away from his bloody mouth. When he looked at her, really _ saw _her, he was someone else. She felt fully that she was looking into the eyes of an Old One, an infected, a predatory animal. He smiled, revealing his bloody, pointed teeth. 

The fear rose again in Natasha, sharp and metallic and she backed away a step. “Steve?” 

Steve shook himself and pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, breathing shakily. He was slipping. Natasha fought the fear that welled in her. Of course... How could she have neglected this? She kept forgetting. She was so familiar with him now, it didn’t seem to register that he still needed blood. He hadn’t consumed any blood since she made him close her wounds at the compromised base, and that was over a week ago now. He had hidden it so well most of the time, never letting on that it had gotten this bad. But this intense thirst clawed away at him until he couldn’t handle it anymore. He looked sick. He looked scared.

“Steve…”

He closed himself off, curling in on himself and shutting her out further. Hesitantly, Natasha crossed the room to him. 

“Natasha…” his voice was strained, barely containing the awful madness inside him. Natasha reached out and touched his side, hand resting just above his hip and he flinched. Steve tensed and lowered his hands to look at her, shaking. She recognized the sallow look, the tinge of madness. His eyes were wide, pleading. For what, she wasn’t sure. She knew what he needed though and he couldn’t wait any longer. Not when it made him do this… Natasha withdrew her knife and Steve tracked the motion, his eyes flashing in anticipation. She slowed her movements, showing him the blade a little before she pressed it to her palm. Steve grabbed her hand, stopping her before she could pierce the skin. 

“Don’t,” he hissed. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I don’t want it.” He held her a little too tightly. 

Natasha licked her lips a little, looking him up and down. “Steve, you have to.” 

“I don’t care! I don’t want it.” An edge of hysteria laced his voice. He sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was her. 

“Steve—” 

“Natasha, please…” 

She huffed, searching his face. His features were set with a tenseness, like it took everything he had to make himself appear even somewhat sane. 

“I don’t mind, really. If it’s going to help you, I don’t mind.” 

He laughed, but there was no kindness in it, no humour. Natasha studied him. He had been supporting her, carrying her for so long, keeping her strong and he wouldn’t let her do the same for him. She interlaced her fingers with his, bringing their intertwined hands down in front of them. Steve watched her, anguished. 

“I’m tired of forgetting. I lost you once, and I’m not doing it again.” He said miserably.

A pit of guilt settled in Natasha. What was this, this devotion? She had been so focused on herself, on revenge, on pushing forward. She pushed aside her feelings, she pushed him away. But Steve was her partner, now, and she hadn’t considered him, thinking of him only as a useful tool for furthering her goal. It sent a wave of shame through her. He was so much more than that. What reason did he have for doing this with her? He wasn’t a hunter, he had no reason to stay with her, and yet... 

“Steve…” She said, eyeing the hand she kept at his waist. “Please let me take care of you for once.” 

He blinked, clearly not having considered this as an option. They didn’t function as a team, they only selfishly tried to go at it alone, to struggle through their problems alone. Steve hadn’t let her go through her grief or this struggle by herself and she wasn’t about to let him suffer through this alone either. He seemed to hate this part of himself so much, enough to keep this from her. He never once asked her for help. Natasha’s gaze fell to their intertwined fingers. He didn’t trust her with this part of himself. Steve’s surprise dissipated and he became sober and quiet. His jaw was set in a hard line. 

“Please,” she said. 

Steve was silent for a long pause. It felt like an eternity to Natasha before hesitantly, he raised their interlaced hands and gingerly rotated them to expose her wrist. He looked at her intensely, bringing her wrist up to his lips, as if to ask permission, to make sure she was really okay with this. Natasha swallowed, it was so strange to be doing this again. Yet the feeling was so wildly different. She offered herself to him then out of necessity, to protect her team. This time, she was doing it for him. Natasha’s heart fluttered and she tried not to move or give away the little thrill that went through her as his lips touched her skin. With a sharp prick, his teeth sunk into her and she couldn’t help the pained gasp that escaped her. 

Like a reflex, she gripped him more tightly, sinking her fingers into his skin where she held him. Last time she had looked away, but this time she couldn’t tear her eyes from the juncture where his mouth met her wrist. Fascinated by the mix of sensations, Natasha mentally surveyed the hot flow of blood, the sting of the punctures, his cool breath, the caress of his tongue... Steve’s fingers were still tightly interlaced with hers, unwilling to break that contact. He reached up with his other hand and held her by the small of her back, pushing her closer to him. Natasha tried to relax, tried to surrender herself to this sensation, but everything in her told her it was wrong. _ Predator! _ Her body screamed, begging her to run. But she forced herself to stay still, to yield to him. Steve suckled at her wrist for a while, running small circles against her back with his thumb. Eventually he pulled away from her, sealing the wound with a final sweep of his tongue. Natasha bristled and when he looked at her, gentleness returned to his features. A wave of relief rolled over her, she had been so scared to see him like that. He smiled apologetically at her, lowering her wrist but still holding her hand. 

“What was that…” she breathed, giving him a little prod where she still gripped his waist. “Steve, I’ve never seen you like that.” 

He slowly slid his hand from hers, withdrawing from her slightly. There was a glint to him, a sharpness that wasn’t there before. “I don’t know…” he admitted, chilling them both. Natasha slid her hand from his side, watching him closely. He sighed a little, unable to meet her eyes. Hesitantly, she stepped a little closer and slid her hand up his chest, centering it over his heart. He breathed evenly beneath her touch and she felt the soft, slow beat of his heart beneath her palm. It might’ve been her imagination, but it seemed a little weaker than she remembered. There was a beat before Steve grew a bit antsy, uncomfortable with her scrutiny and Natasha took that as her queue to leave him alone. 

“I’ll be just outside.” She said quietly, turning to leave him to sort himself out. 

“Natasha.” 

She stopped, eyeing him from the doorway. He looked at her, expression carefully neutral as he studied her. “Thank you.” She nodded and left.

In the other room, Natasha exhaled shakily. He had reminded her of when they had first met. Unfeeling, remorseless. She switched off the light and settled into her bedroll, hand sliding down to finger her blade thoughtfully. Her wrist throbbed, the punctured skin was clotting over, but it hurt all the same. She withdrew her first aid and wrapped the wound in gauze. When she was done, Natasha rested her hand on her lap and watched the door to the other room carefully. How many times would she need to do this for him? She had no idea how long he could go without feeding, but she didn’t want to see him like that again. At Shield, he seemed to be able to abstain for longer, but now it seemed like he was only able to go for about eight or nine days. And that resulted in him nearly losing his mind. If that was his limit, she’d have to feed him sooner than that…Maybe the amount of blood mattered? She felt a little sick. It was strange to think that she might have to get used to the idea of feeding his desire for blood… and although she was willing to help him, having her blood consistently drained every week was going to have an impact on her body. Natasha shivered a little, shaking off the sinking unease creeping through her chest. She paused, staring at her palm in troubled contemplation as another, far more terrifying thought consumed her. Was the test cure fading? The other test subjects regressed much sooner as they hadn’t been able to suppress their thirst like Steve could. But was he losing not only his memory every time he drank from her, but his humanity as well? Natasha sighed and rubbed her face tiredly. She needed to get back to Shield. Not just for Clint, and to warn them of the impending attack, but for Steve as well.

Steve returned wearing a new uniform. It was an older style, the Shield logo was emblazoned on the centre of the shirt across his chest and the pants were black instead of navy. He never wore the protective jacket, or shoes, she noted. He didn’t need them. Steve was strained and tense. He looked so tired, his whole body flagging as he stood in the doorway not looking at her. He was so clearly troubled by what he had done. 

“I’ll stay up,” he said tersely, “You’ve worried enough about me.” 

Natasha sat up and looked at him a little more closely “Are you okay now?”

Steve just nodded silently and looked away, his expression stony. He was usually so honest with her.

“Please don’t lie to me,” she said gently and his jaw clenched tightly in response. “You don’t look okay. I was so terrified when you left, Steve. I thought something had happened to you.” 

His whole body became rigid and his hands curled into fists as she spoke. “You should’ve left without me,” he said coldly. 

Natasha frowned and shifted onto her knees, trying to get a better look at him. “Steve I wouldn’t do that.”

He snapped to face her, expression tight with anger. “You should have!” he exclaimed, moving in a little closer, “You don’t understand, Natasha. I left because I was hunting!” 

His words fell between them, plunging them into a terrible silence. Natasha could feel the colour drain from her face and Steve ran a hand through his hair, unable to look at her. 

“Being so close to you, I can’t stand it sometimes,” he said quietly, “Your scent drives me crazy. I can’t describe what that feels like. I was scared of losing control and hurting you… or worse...” he admitted, rubbing his face with a humourless smile “I’m losing my mind. This… thirst builds and builds and takes me over until it’s all I can think about…”

Natasha inhaled shakily, gathering her thoughts. “Did you… you know… find anyone?” 

Steve laughed a little and sagged further against the wall. “No. I found the horde instead. When I saw them I…” He rubbed his neck, eyes glued to the floor, “It felt like a dream, like I was floating above myself. It felt good to slaughter them, to have them fight back. There must’ve been dozens. I didn’t know how to stop, it was all I wanted.” 

The silence between them grew, spreading like a terrible sickness. Natasha’s lips parted slightly and she searched for the right words. But there were none. Natasha couldn’t imagine having that infection take hold of her and strip away her humanity like that. To make her crave violence and destruction to the point of insanity. But she did know what it was like to lose control. She remembered the daze of going berserk on Rumlow. The feel of his bones shattering, his lukewarm blood painting her hands and neck. She picked at her fingernails, imagining his blood still caked under them, embedded in her skin, part of her. That feeling of not being able to stop, of giving in to every desire and impulse that screamed at her to make him pay, she liked it too. There was an amazing power in it, though it always left her empty when it was gone. She wondered what it must feel like to _ want _ that feeling, to need it to feel whole. Natasha looked up at Steve and saw he was distant, retreating into the violent memory. She knew when he was like this— like the real Steve, he wouldn’t hurt her, but those violent impulses grew in him. She didn’t know how much time he had before they shattered him completely, stole him from her and replaced him with a savage, sadistic creature. 

“I know you probably don’t want to talk about what just happened,” she said, breaking him from his thoughts, “But you can tell me when you need blood, Steve. Tell me when you’re tired, or when you—” 

“Stop,” he said sharply, pacing into the room, “You don’t have to pretend like what you did for me was okay. You don’t have to feed me like that. You don’t have to offer yourself to me to…” he paused a moment to collect himself, “I never want you to think you have to do that to stop me from hurting you.” 

Steve looked so angry with himself as he spoke, his expression so tense and bitter. Natasha watched him silently, lips pursed in a thin line. “I hate myself sometimes,” he said quietly. “I should’ve done both of us a favour and stayed away.” 

Natasha frowned and struggled to her feet, flushing with frustration. It was like they were disconnected, falling further apart from each other. 

“Stop it,” she said in a low tone. 

But Steve was in his own head, spiralling into this ugly self hatred he had hidden from her for so long. “I’m such a— a _ monster _,” he said with disgust, 

Natasha stepped closer to him, but he never looked at her. “Steve, you’re not—“

“I’m so selfish.” He continued, “You are better off without me, Natasha. I should’ve left you.”

Natasha swallowed, the heat rising in her face. “Why didn’t you then, Steve?” 

He blanched, expression still tense as he watched her. “Why did you come back?” He fell into silence, unable to answer her. Natasha supposed he had returned for the same reason that she waited for him. An inexplicable bond, a terrible desire for one another’s company. 

Natasha exhaled sharply and stepped closer, “I didn’t… feed you because I was scared you might hurt me,” She said, “I wanted you back, Steve. I wasn’t scared because you were like that, I was scared that I had lost you for good.” 

It was probably terribly illogical, but she thought of it as medicine. He couldn’t control this sickness without it. He swallowed, deflating a little under her gaze. He looked like he wanted to escape this, to hide from her. 

“You’re my partner,” she said softly, reaching out for him, “You’re different, sure, but I wouldn’t have you any other way, Steve. I don’t want to do this without you.” 

Suddenly Steve seemed so tired, so defeated. He seemed to fold in on himself at her words, like he didn’t quite believe he worthy of them. It broke her a little to see that. For all the times he had carried her, pulled her up on her worst days, he didn’t trust that she would want to do the same for him. This terrible darkness that scared her, scared him too. But it was a part of him just as much as his sandy blonde hair, or his silvery eyes. It made her sad that he tried so hard to hide it from her, to put on a show of being more human than he was to try and make her feel more at ease. She never wanted him to be ashamed of what he was. It wasn’t like he had a choice.

Steve seemed so lost, so broken and Natasha slowly reached out to touch his arm, to try and give him a measure of reassurance. “You can trust me, Steve,” she said quietly. Steve watched the floor through his lashes, lips drawn into a tight line. He seemed to wilt into her touch and Natasha reached up and cupped his face. Steve’s eyes flitted to meet hers at the contact. He seemed so tired, like he was barely holding on. 

“I don’t want you to think you have to be strong for me,” she said softly, “I don’t want you to have to pretend you’re okay. I want to help.” 

Steve swallowed and returned his gaze to his feet. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m sorry that I—“ 

Something bloomed in Natasha. It would’ve frightened her to consider it, to examine it, but now wasn’t the time. Her partner needed her. Instead, she pulled Steve into her arms and held him tightly. His response was almost immediate, like he couldn’t hold on anymore and finally let go, finally let his guard down. Steve buried his face into her hair, arms circling around her waist tightly. He was much bigger and taller than her, but she felt like she was the only thing keeping him on his feet. Closing her eyes, Natasha wrapped her arms around his back, hands gripping the nape of his neck. Steve breathed shakily against her, his forehead coming to rest in the crook of her neck. 

“I’m sorry…” he repeated, but Natasha had heard enough. Sliding her fingers down the length of his spine she rested her cheek against his shoulder. 

“What do you need?” she asked gently, echoing what he had once asked her. Steve didn’t answer, he just stood frozen in her arms. “Are you tired?” she said, wondering if he had been hurt in his encounter with the horde. His demeanor suggested he had been. She hadn’t seen him like this before. Tracing little circles on his back, she leaned into him. “Do you need to rest?” 

Steve just nodded and Natasha untangled herself from him, took him by the hand and guided him down to her bedroll. Gently, she laid him down and sat next to him, watching the door. Steve curled into her a little, his forehead resting against her leg. They sat quietly for a while, the only sound between them were Steve’s even breaths. The minutes crept by and Natasha dozed a little, doing her best to stay up. She was certain that Steve was sleeping, his hair had fallen into his eyes as he rested. Without thinking about it, Natasha adjusted herself to sit more comfortably and swept the hair from Steve’s face. He grunted softly and she flushed, hoping that she hadn’t woken him up and embarrassed to be caught in the act. Drowsily, he shifted, nestling closer to her as he lay on the thin mat, eyes half shut. 

“Do that again,” he murmured. 

A little half smile pulled at Natasha’s lips as she watched him, curled on her bedroll. A part of her was pleased she could pay him back for toying with her hair until she fell asleep a few nights ago. Another part of her was hesitant to touch him, to give in to this strange closeness that grew between them. But she could give him this. Slowly, Natasha reached out and smoothed his hair back. She observed the way he bloomed under her hand, like he had been starving for affection until this moment. As if she hadn’t just been holding him moments ago. He sighed and Natasha traced the ridge of his cheekbone, fascinated by the cool sensation of his skin. Her fingertips grazed across his face and dipped into his hair again. Steve’s eyes fluttered shut in response and he finally relaxed, surrendering to her. It felt nice to have him so vulnerable with her and greedily, Natasha traced the black veins under his pale skin before combing his hair back with her fingers, wanting to see his reaction. But Steve was unresponsive and Natasha’s hand fell still, still twined through his hair. 

She sat up for a long time. They could travel again at first light and she nervously watched the door, hoping that the stranger would stay away tonight. That was the last thing they needed after everything they had just been through. There had been no sign of him so far and Natasha sighed heavily. Though she was glad he wasn’t here, it meant he was on the move and somehow that felt much worse. She stroked her hand through Steve’s hair again absently, waiting for him to wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow a whole new chapter! Enter the stranger! I love this character and one of my beta readers did too haha. He's super fun to write. Next chapter will be up Friday/Saturday/Sunday. I am in the final stages of the story in my personal writing docs and I am telling all of you about it in the hopes that I can push through and finish the story! There's still lots of it left for you all to read, so please enjoy!


	18. Nothing Gold Can Stay

When Natasha awoke, she felt groggy. Her eyes slid open to reveal her bleary surroundings and she moved her head, eyes like slits. She hadn’t meant to sleep, but exhaustion won out and it was a few hours before dawn when she finally nodded off. Usually hunter teams took shifts, so that everyone got some sleep, but she wanted to let Steve rest as long as he could, especially after what they had been through last night. She sighed and rubbed her face tiredly, slowly coming back to awareness. As she surveyed her surroundings, she noticed immediately that she had slid a little further down in her sleep and Steve was curled up against her stomach, his forehead resting against her side. Her fingers were still woven through his hair. Natasha flushed and gently moved her hand from him and she pushed herself up on her elbows. When her body moved, she grunted, feeling the terrible stiffness that had worked its way into her muscles. She must’ve slept in that odd position. She inhaled deeply, feeling her muscles struggle to expand and her joints crack. Natasha exhaled and studied the light filtering in through the slits in the bunker walls. It seemed like late morning, and she chided herself again for losing daylight. From outside she could hear the patter of rain, and smell the fresh scent of the earth and ozone. She sighed heavily. It was going to be a grueling slog today. She couldn’t wait any longer though, they had wasted a full day here. Natasha glanced at Steve’s sleeping face, hoping he would wake up on his own. He seemed so innocent when he slept, his long eyelashes were like little crescent moons cut into the pale complexion of his skin, his lips were soft and neutral. Natasha huffed and sat up, testing the limits of her stiff body, the contusion on her ribs protested painfully against any movement. 

Hesitantly, Natasha unzipped her jacket and lifted the hem of her shirt to inspect her battered body. The ugly bruise on her ribs was healing, switching from an array of purples and blues to an assortment of blacks, browns and yellows that spread across her side and stomach. With a sigh, she put her shirt back down. It felt especially tender today— sleeping in the position she had been in hadn’t helped. Natasha worked her way to her knees, then slowly stood. Stretching to touch her toes, she groaned, feeling bent out of shape. Crossing the room with a little sniff, she rotated her head from side to side, regretting what little sleep she did get and reached for her bag. She should’ve stayed awake, she should’ve kept better watch last night. She rotated her wrist to inspect the gauze hiding the dull throb of the punctures Steve had left there. She swallowed and touched the wound lightly, remembering the way Steve had drank from her the other night. It sent a chill through her to remember him like that, so she made herself do something more useful instead. It might be a good idea to pick up some additional rain gear as well as the downpour outside didn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon. She rummaged through the trunks for a raincoat and some small tarps. When she turned back to Steve, his eyes were open and he watched her. 

“Morning,” she said softly as she flitted around the room to retrieve some more gear. 

Steve sat up and rubbed his face tiredly and ran his hand through his disheveled hair. “I don’t suppose I could convince you to rest for another day.” He said. 

Natasha smiled softly as she packed her bag, zipping it closed before turning to face him again. “Nope,” she said. 

Steve smirked and she made her way over to where he sat and held out her hand to help him up. He looked at it for a moment before taking it and Natasha hauled him up, pretending like the movement didn’t hurt. Steve didn’t buy it for one second and he frowned. His hand slid to the hem of her shirt and he hooked his thumb under the material to press his cool palm against her flesh. A wave of relief washed over Natasha, threatening to pull her away from her mission. 

“Are you sure?” He said, eyes flitting to hers.

Steve was such a mother hen. Natasha sighed and held his hand against her for a while. There was a strange shift, she felt. There was definitely something weird between them now. When she searched his face, he gave nothing away. Maybe it was just her. Maybe she was being weird about it. He was her partner, she had come to terms with that, finally. There was an air of knowing, vulnerability— trust— that hadn’t been there before. The fear in her threatened to rise again.  _ This is what you get _ , it told her,  _ And this is what you stand to lose.  _

Natasha slid from his touch, reaching for her pack. “I’m sure,” she said. 

They left shortly after that. And Natasha was right, the hike in the rain made things so much worse. It fatigued her more than she would like, but she kept pushing forward. The feeling that the horde and the stranger were out there was deeply concerning. They were still about nine days away from the base in Southern France and Natasha could push herself just a little more. They were so close. She could make herself push through the dull ache of her body, the misery of the weather. She couldn’t afford to do otherwise, especially after losing a whole day to wait for Steve. But they made good time along the safehouse network, trudging along the little dirt road in the downpour with reasonably good spirits. Natasha was glad that Steve seemed to be back to normal now. He wanted to play a game this time, and was the first to ask her a would you rather question. Neither of them brought up what they had done the night before, but Natasha felt it in her wrist every time she swept the wet flyaways from her face, or left her hand down by her side as she walked. It ached terribly. 

The hours passed and the rain never let up. The rain gear worked well enough, but it didn’t stop her legs from soaking through, nor did it stop the little chill and damp that settled on her shoulders and head. Natasha sighed and shook the water from her. They were approaching the next safehouse and she was a little nervous. She wasn’t sure what she would find anymore and the looming threat of the stranger settled on her. She surged ahead, needing to see if he had beaten her there. She knew he had, but Natasha was a little shaken to see the deadbolt on the converted home had been smashed and the provisions scattered into the surrounding area. Steve was somber as he helped her look through what was left and she sorted through the remains with grim efficiency, imagining the stranger doing this to deliberately piss her off. She scanned the path from the open door behind her, wondering if he was watching them. It didn’t matter right now. She just had to worry about getting back to Shield before he did. She had recovered some tins of food and dried fruits and that was enough for now. 

“Let’s go,” she said, stepping out of the safehouse and back into the rain. Steve fell into step beside her, adjusting his hood to try and keep the rain out of his eyes. Natasha had given him a Shield jacket to wear, but he was still soaked. Absently, she wondered if the cold bothered him. She tucked her freezing fingers back into her pockets and forged ahead. He seemed unbothered.

“You going to take a break soon?” he asked lightly. Natasha just studied the ground ahead of her as she walked, filled with the urge to keep moving forward. It didn’t matter that she was tired. They were behind schedule and the destroyed safehouse was a physical reminder that they were behind Hydra as well. Natasha was about to tell him that she wasn’t going to today, but she snapped her mouth shut when she saw his worried expression and wiped the rainwater from her cheek instead. 

“Soon,” she promised. 

They pushed ahead another ten kilometers before Natasha took a break. Steve ended up carrying her most of the way anyway. They stopped in the ruin of an old cemetery, sitting amongst the ruined tombs under the sheltered overhang of the remaining church. Natasha had removed her hood and shook the water from her jacket and pants, doing her best to stave off the weariness seeping into her body. Steve just removed his jacket entirely and perched on the stonework of the old building. Natasha sat across from him and took out her provisions to eat. She was starving. Usually they ate on the road or she would snack and walk at the same time, but it was nice to have a bit of time to rest. She popped open some cured meat and the tin of dried fruit and shovelled a handful into her mouth. 

Steve just watched the rain falling softly over the headstones, eyes tracing the faded names of dead strangers with interest. It was a luxury that people in the time before had, burying their dead like this. Natasha took another handful of fruit and chewed it thoughtfully. 

“Do you want some?” she said through her mouthful of food. She held out the tin to him and he took it hesitantly. 

“I forgot to ask if you ever needed food,” she said, watching Steve inspect the dried fruit. 

“I don’t,” he said, “but I always wondered what it tasted like.” 

He fished out a dried cherry— one of Natasha’s favourites— and popped it in his mouth. Steve chewed for all of three seconds before he frowned deeply and his mouth puckered. 

“Oh,” he said, lips curling in disgust. 

Natasha laughed when he spat it out, really laughed. She held her ribs tightly and doubled over. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world when Steve laughed with her. The sound was dampened by the falling rain like a secret just between the two of them.When she realized what she heard, she stopped to look at him, to capture the easy smile on his face, the kindness in his eyes. His laughter was warm and genuine, exactly how she imagined it might’ve sounded. He was beautiful. She wanted to keep this moment, frozen forever. 

“What?” he asked, when he noticed her staring. 

Maybe it should bother her to learn that he couldn’t eat human food. But it was becoming easier to accept his differences. He was just Steve. She smiled warmly at him and stood up

“Nothing,” she said, popping another cherry into her mouth with an impish smile, “You’re such a baby.” 

Steve’s eyebrows raised incredulously, and Natasha threw a dried blueberry at him with a laugh. It hit him in the chest and he lunged forward, catching her playfully around the waist, careful to avoid her injured side. Natasha smiled and put up a pretend fight, using a strip of jerky as a prop knife, she held it to his throat and he gave her a little growl as he pulled her closer. They both laughed again, and Natasha could feel it reverberate through her this time. She chuckled, liking this feeling of happiness, camaraderie. Steve’s smile faded a little as he watched her, drinking in her face as if to commit it to memory. His eyes drifted to Natasha’s lips as he held her in this pantomime and his own parted softly. She suddenly became painfully aware of how close they were and cleared her throat, feeling heat rush to her cheeks. Natasha pulled away and Steve immediately released her. He seemed just as flustered and confused as she did. 

“We should get going,” she said almost too loudly as she stuffed her items back into her pack. Steve nodded, his face clouded with uncertainty. He couldn’t look at her and she fidgeted before shouldering her pack and they went back out into the rain. 

After that, they spent some time in silence before Natasha couldn’t stand it anymore. She never liked awkward silence, so she told him Ivan Tsarevich and the Grey Wolf instead. He seemed grateful not to talk about whatever that was and listened intently to her story. She had trouble remembering parts of it, and left out a lot, but Steve seemed to enjoy it all the same. There were no supernatural villains in this one, just Ivan’s two elder brothers who were jealous of his success and love with the beautiful princess Helen. Enough to murder him for it. That seemed to have an impact on Steve and he fell silent, watching the road ahead thoughtfully. 

“I don’t understand,” he said quietly, “It’s something that comes up in all of your stories, but it’s different every time.” 

Natasha watched him, shifting the hood of her jacket to better protect her eyes. “What does?” she asked, hoping she hadn’t messed up a detail too badly. 

“Love,” Steve said softly. 

It struck Natasha then that maybe he enjoyed these stories because they offered a glimpse into something he couldn’t quite grasp. They were cautionary tales, love stories, windows into a past long gone. They were silly and childish and so unquestionably human. 

“Why is that?” he asked, turning to face her. 

She was a little surprised at the notion. Something abstract like love was difficult to explain. Thinking back on it now, he had had trouble understanding it when she first met him— he couldn’t understand why Carter had come back to him. He didn’t get it when she told him her stories during his time at Shield either… It was something that people just knew, that they just felt. He had lost that ability when he became infected. She swallowed thickly, unsure of how to describe this to him.

“Love is…” she paused with a frown, “well there’s romantic love, like Ivan feels for Helen…” Steve’s brow furrowed at her words. “And um— well there’s other love too. Like what he feels for the Grey Wolf. He’s his friend and he cares about him deeply.” 

Steve looked like he was no closer to understanding the concept. It was hard to gauge what he knew already with his limited memory and human experience. Natasha sighed deeply. 

“It’s something that’s difficult to describe. I don’t think that I can do a good job of it…” 

Steve watched the road silently, deep in thought. “But it’s something you’ve felt?” he asked, his expression quizzical. 

When he asked her that, Natasha had never felt more homesick. She thought of her mother and father and her grandmother. She thought of Sam and Clint and Fury and the little potted rosemary plant on her desk. She understood it well enough. Turning her gaze to the road ahead, Natasha just nodded silently.

“You’ve been in love then?” Steve asked a little excitedly, “like in your stories?” 

She couldn’t help but turn to look at him, to take in the earnest expression set on his face. Natasha couldn’t stop the laughter that escaped her. There were a handful of awkward encounters, of brief relationships that ended as soon as they had started. It was never love. Love was for children, for people who wanted a different life, a softer life. Those people were braver than she was. She was afraid of feeling that kind of attachment to someone. Of losing it. It wasn’t for people like her. 

“No,” she said, watching his expression fall a little, “I never have.” 

“Oh.” he sounded disappointed that she couldn’t tell him more about it and she was sorry that she couldn’t explain it any better. Clint had told her something about it once. The few times he talked about his wife, his daughter, his son. He made it sound nice when he could bring himself to talk about it. She never asked him how they had died. Natasha sighed softly, watching Steve’s troubled expression. 

“I’ve heard it’s nice though,” she offered, “it makes people happy. Clint used to say it makes you feel like there’s butterflies in your stomach.” 

Steve laughed at that— kind, genuine, warm— drawing a shy smile from Natasha. “That sounds ridiculous,” he said, “what kind of expression is that?” 

“I don’t know,” she said, “just something people say. In Russia we had better expressions than that.” 

Steve smiled, his sharp teeth flashing wickedly.

“Tell me.” 

Natasha took a moment to remember the phrase, shaking the rain from her shoulders. “Любовь зла, полюбишь и козла,” she said, “Love is evil, you may fall in love with a goat.” 

Steve dissolved into laughter and Natasha laughed with him, listening to him repeat the phrase. He wasn’t half bad. “What the hell does that mean?” he asked, trying to collect himself between bursts of laughter. 

She smiled, “we don’t get to choose who we fall in love with,” she said. 

Steve just hummed in response and Natasha wasn’t sure if that made sense to him either. It certainly never did for her.

By the time that they made it to the safehouse, it was near dark. The door was torn from its hinges, compromising the safety of the little reinforced house. Steve immediately became tense, turning to face her with a look of concern. Instead of deflating as she had the night they were attacked by the horde, Natasha used this moment to her advantage. 

“We should keep moving,” she suggested, “there’s a bigger one not too far from here. This one was more of an emergency shelter.” 

Steve pursed his lips and eyed the open doorway of the safehouse in the fading light. It still rained, they were both sopping wet. 

“We shouldn’t risk it,” he said over the downpour, “This will be safe enough. I can handle the horde if they come.” 

Natasha turned to face him and drew her hood a little more securely over her head. “I know you can,” she said, “That’s why I think we should keep going.” 

When Steve frowned, Natasha took his hand gently. “The big one up the road is another old bunker,” she said, “There might be supplies there.” 

Steve just eyed her warily, shoving his rain soaked hair from his face. “And it’s probably safer there,” she added. 

Steve watched the road ahead and turned back to her, tensed. “How far is it?” he said. 

Natasha eagerly adjusted her pack, “seven klicks” 

Reluctantly, Steve sighed and gestured for her to guide him. Natasha smiled widely in response and headed down the path. 

When they found the bunker, it was night time. Natasha piggybacked on Steve again, using his unrelenting stamina and night vision to their advantage. It looked untouched and Natasha found it was still locked. Maybe they had outrun the stranger at last. They had regained a lot of ground today and if the stranger could only travel at night, they might have finally gotten ahead again. Natasha unlocked the door and burst into the empty room. Steve stepped around her into the pitch darkness to check the rooms. He returned shortly after with an old lantern, and Natasha handed him her matches to light it with. Soon the warm yellow glow filled the room and Natasha looked around. It was quiet, everything was in its place and she laughed a little at the sight. Eagerly, she shook the soaking rain gear from her and stripped her wet clothes, locating the trunk with towels and sets of uniforms to change into. Behind her, Steve locked the door and hung his wet raincoat to dry. Natasha disappeared into the other room to change. She could practically feel the bedroll beneath her already she was so exhausted. She was running on very little sleep, but she was so glad to have found this place. Even more glad that it was left alone. That the stranger hadn’t destroyed it like the rest. She was finally ahead, finally regaining some control. 

When she returned to the main room, already feeling so much warmer in a new set of clothes and socks, Steve had already laid out the bedroll for her. Natasha could’ve melted onto it right then and there. 

“I don’t need to rest tonight,” he said taking a seat on one of the supply cache trunks. Natasha was already crawling under the covers as he spoke. 

“Are you sure?” she asked, “Are you feeling okay?” 

Steve smiled warmly at her, silver eyes glinting in the warm light. “I’m okay now, Natasha,” he said quietly, “You can rest.” 

She smiled softly at that and drifted off soon after. 

She could’ve sworn she was dreaming. There were voices, low and heated echoing distantly around her. They were dampened by the rain outside. She might’ve been able to convince herself she was imagining it. There were so many reasons to ignore it— she was warm and safe in her bed, she was exhausted, she was tired of this. But Natasha’s eyes fluttered open and she turned over in her bedroll to see if Steve heard it too. She sat up when she realized that he wasn’t in the room with her anymore. The voices rose sharply from outside and she had a terrible sinking feeling as she listened, trying to pick out any words, but it was fruitless. Natasha scrambled out of bed over to the door, noting that it was unlocked from the inside. Steve was out there. She listened, focusing hard over the sound of her thundering heart. 

_ You know there’s something wrong with you, don’t you? _ came the familiar, muffled purr,  _ you can feel it, I know you can. _ Natasha recognized the dangerous edge of that voice. The stranger. 

There was silence and Natasha thought her heartbeat might give her away it was so loud. 

_ Let us help you, Steve, _ she overheard the stranger say gently. He sounded so convincing, so friendly. 

_ Shut up, _ Steve snapped,  _ I don’t want it. _

The stranger paused. When he spoke again, the dangerous edge had returned to his tone.  _ Because of her? _ he accused,  _ You’re funny. Give it time, you won’t remember her. _

_ Shut up! I’ll kill you. I swear on my life, if you don’t leave, I will kill you. _

Natasha heard a muffled shuffling from outside the safehouse. The voices continued their hushed conversation a little further away now and she strained to listen, pressing herself closer to the door. Instead she heard footsteps approaching. Panicked, she retreated back to her bedroll and withdrew her knife in worried anticipation. But Steve quietly opened the door, stepping back into the room. He was soaked— he must’ve been out there for a while at least. When he turned, he met her worried expression with one of his own and sighed. He had been caught. Doing what, Natasha wasn’t sure. 

Steve pursed his lips and locked the door behind him before stepping into the other room. 

“Where were you?” she asked quietly, watching the doorway he had disappeared into, “Who were you talking to?” 

She hated that she felt so small. Hated that this awful feeling of last night had returned. He was withdrawn, separated from her in the other room. She waited, unable to understand what he was thinking or feeling. It killed her. 

“Another Old One, like me.” He said from the other room, “He called you by name, asked you to open the door.” 

Natasha swallowed and leaned against the wall, eyes tracing the gauze wrapping her wrist. “I think he came the other night, too,” she said miserably. 

Steve returned in a new set of clothes, concern lacing his features in the warm light of the lantern. He just nodded. The stranger must’ve mentioned that in their conversation. “I should’ve told you,” she said, “but you had so much going on, I didn’t think it was a good time.” 

Steve became a little withdrawn. Absently, he sat next to her on her bedroll, obviously upset by something the stranger had said. He leaned into her a little, pressing against her with a troubled expression. Natasha could feel his heartbeat, slow and steady as she pressed against him. She might’ve been nervous or flustered by the contact. It certainly sent a jolt through her, but Steve seemed to need her support. He desperately wanted her close. 

“Who is he?” she asked quietly, “What did he say?” 

Steve eyed her, face drawn with concern. “I don’t know,” he admitted, “He seemed a lot different from that other woman…” he looked distant, like he struggled to recall her name. “Madame Hydra,” he said finally. It made Natasha’s heart sink a little. That wasn’t that long ago, but he had trouble remembering. “He was… A lot rougher, like he’d been around more, seen more violence. He only had one arm,” Steve swallowed and glanced at Natasha, like he wasn’t quite sure how to continue. “He’s strange. He told me he remembers things. He doesn’t forget when he drinks blood.”

Natasha felt herself grow a little colder. Rumlow had mentioned something like that too. She didn’t want to believe him then. But now Steve was saying the same thing… An Old One that could remember. What other improvements was Hydra trying to make to the infected? She leaned a little more into Steve, wanting some measure of comfort, of warmth. But his skin just chilled her further. 

“Steve, what did he want from you?” She asked quietly.

Steve’s face grew stony and distant. He glanced at her again and moved away a little. “Nothing,” he said, “He was trying to get to you. He was just trying to scare us.”

Maybe she should’ve pressed the issue, or tried to draw more information from him. But Steve seemed lost in thought, angered by his encounter with the stranger. Instead she nudged him a little. “He’s gone now,” she said, hoping beyond anything that he was finished with them, but she had a feeling that it wouldn’t be the last time she encountered the stranger. They changed the topic of conversation to something much lighter. She would ask him about it again tomorrow. Natasha wasn’t about to get any sleep now, so she sat up with him. She told him Vasilia the Beautiful again, she told him stories about Clint, about Sam. She talked and talked, but she mostly just filled the space between them. Steve never relaxed. 

In the next three days, they made good time. Natasha was relieved that as they went, the safehouses were still intact. There was no further sign of the stranger or of Hydra looming over their travels and it gave Natasha a modicum of reassurance that they had gotten ahead of them again. They kept their travels mostly to the daytime. Steve wouldn’t hear of night travel again after his encounter with the stranger. He was still tense about it. He wore it on his face every day. 

Natasha did her best to lighten the mood. Every now and then she would ask him about the stranger, to try and pry more information from him. But he only gave her a little smile and told her he was just worried that he might come back. Something about that didn’t ring quite true with Natasha, but she didn’t know how to press the issue. 

Today she had her safehouse map out again, marking their next location. The last one they had visited had been a bust. Not because of Hydra, but because of a flood through the area. An old drainage system had overflowed during the rain storm. Natasha sighed as she sloshed through calf-deep water, choosing their next location. It was a little out of the way and not quite on the main safehouse network, but it was the closest option they had before nightfall. She relayed all of this to Steve, but he seemed lost in thought. 

“Steve?” Natasha asked, returning her map to her pocket. 

He snapped to attention and gave her a wry little smile, a familiar strained expression on his face. He had been stressed, but this seemed like something else. Natasha frowned a little and turned away, busying herself with picking through the debris and dirty water. 

“How long has it been?” she asked, watching her hands.

Steve was quiet as he moved behind her. He knew what she meant. He used to be able to go for weeks at a time, ignoring and pushing down the thirst that consumed him. But Natasha was better at recognizing it now. He couldn’t hide his need as easily from her anymore. But the timeline seemed off to her. She had fed him nearly five days ago. Was this how long it took before he started to feel its effects again? Less than a week? 

“I don’t need it yet,” he said tersely. 

“Steve, please,” she said hauling a tangle of debris out of her path, “I know you do. I can see it in you.” She turned to face him. He didn’t seem pleased to know that she could spot it easier in him now. It was the price of their growing closeness. 

“Do you need it now?” she asked, falling into step with him. He pursed his lips in response, keeping focused on the flooded road ahead of them. 

“No,” he said quietly, “I don’t want to do this here.”

Natasha was about to protest. It seemed strange to her that she was arguing with him to drink her blood now. She never would’ve imagined it a year ago. Never would’ve imagined that she would be here, with Steve, outrunning Hydra and begging him to trust her enough to drink from her. The thought almost made her laugh. 

“When we get to safety,” he breathed, “I’ll… We can…” 

Natasha smiled at him, at this strange trust they had. That was funny to consider, too. She had never trusted anyone like this. Clint was maybe the closest thing she had, but Steve was different. She wouldn’t curl up with Clint, she never touched Clint like she did Steve. This thing with Steve was different. More. They slogged through the flooded area until they finally made it back to solid ground. Natasha idly snacked on some jerky, jokingly offering some to Steve who— immediately, emphatically— declined. She laughed and hesitantly, he did too. 

Dusk was fast approaching when they approached the safehouse to hunker down for the night. It was an old home just outside of what looked like the ruins of a city. It seemed promising. Natasha unlocked the door and withdrew her axe, preparing to search the room. Steve had become a little more distant and she left him outside to keep watch. She set about clearing the room, quietly searching places the horde might hide. Empty. After searching each room thoroughly, Natasha set out to get Steve when her foot landed on a rotten floorboard and she fell through, tumbling into the sealed-off basement below with a cry. 

She shook the splinters from her, ignoring the ache of her abused body, quickly trying to gather her surroundings, when she heard the soft growl of the infected surround her. In the dying light, Natasha could see them, three infected blinking to awareness in the darkness surrounding her. 

“Steve!” Natasha cried, as they turned to snarl at her. 

Natasha struck first, hurling her axe into the skull of an infected before it could fully gather itself. The axe buried itself deeply into the thing’s head and it slumped to the floor in a heap. Natasha withdrew another blade and axe from the holster at her side. She was still weak, but even on her best day she didn’t think she could take on two infected at once. 

One lunged at her and she brought her blade up to slash at it, muscles screaming in effort. Her blade whistled past its face. The horde infected was faster than her, its claws sweeping at her. Too slow, Natasha moved and felt the awful sensation of its claws tear into her, just catching her neck. Blood gushed over her throat and down her collarbone, soaking the fabric of her shirt. Another couple of centimeters over and it would’ve killed her. She arced her own weapon up in return, catching the creature under its jaw with her longer reach, feeling the blade split the bone. The creature shrieked, teeth and blood oozing from its face, it reached and tackled her to the floor. From above Steve finally joined the fray, catching the other creature in his grip and viciously sinking his claws deep into the thing’s back before grasping and snapping its spine with a snarl. Natasha kicked and struggled with the snapping thing on top of her before Steve hauled it from her, sending it sailing across the room. Natasha was relieved to see him. 

“Took you long enough,” she breathed as she sagged to the floor. He gave her a half smile and turned to the struggling creatures on the floor. The first infected struggled over the writhing form of the other creature, paralyzed by its severed spine. With a deafening cry, it rushed Steve who whirled to face it. Natasha brought her blade up and threw it as hard as she could manage at the creature. It sunk deeply into the thing’s chest and it stumbled with a gurgling wheeze. Steve caught it by its throat as it faltered, squeezing until Natasha heard a loud pop. It fell, skin caved in over its crushed windpipe, wheezing at Steve’s feet. He stepped over it to the other infected, mewling and squealing on the floor as he loomed over it. He drew Natasha’s knife from the infected and plunged it deep into the paralyzed creature’s head. Steve turned to face her, his smile turned to a look of concern when his eyes landed on the gash at her neck. Natasha swallowed and pushed herself to standing, stemming the flow of blood with her fingers and scanning the room for more of the horde. Steve frowned, face drawing taut. She didn’t notice Steve’s frenzied look, the way his breathing increased to wild pants as he traced the rivulet of blood running between her fingers and down her neck. She trusted him too much to notice. Steve turned his attention back to the other horde wheezing and wriggling its way toward Natasha. He flipped the thing onto its back with a kick and plunged his hand deep into its chest to crush its heart. Blood gurgled from its mouth and nose, and Steve watched it as it gave its last hollow wheeze, eyes still fixed on Natasha, who bent to retrieve her axe from the head of the first infected. Steve followed its gaze to her, face twisting into an ugly snarl. 

Kneeling at the crumpled body of the first infected, Natasha wiped the blood from her blade, inspecting the joints and edges for signs of weakness or damage. It seemed to be holding up well enough. She would give it a proper clean and sharpen later. She stood, feeling the protest of her body, and turned to face Steve. He watched her for a moment, expressionless, before he slowly closed the distance between them. She couldn’t help the little smile that pulled at her lips. Her fingers were still pressed tightly to the wound on her neck. 

“We need to get moving” Natasha began, “I don’t think—” 

Steve suddenly jerked her hand from her neck, cutting her off. Before she could ask him what the hell he was doing, he brought her fingers to his mouth and sucked the blood from them. Natasha froze in shock. Feeling the scrape of his teeth, the coolness of his mouth, the sweep of his tongue on her fingers. She looked at him and an awful pit of fear settled in her. When he looked back at her, he looked right through her. 

“Steve—” 

He roughly grabbed her and pinned her to the wall behind them. Her weary body screamed in protest, her bruises ached, and she felt like the wind had been knocked from her. A fog of fear and confusion settled on Natasha as Steve tilted her head back and pressed his mouth to the gash on her neck. Natasha blanched, barely registering what was happening. His lips clamped her skin hungrily as he sucked at the open wound. She felt his nose skim along her neck, the cool rush of his breath on her skin, the tickle of his hair on her face. Natasha floated above herself, this wasn’t happening. She crashed back to awareness when she felt the razor sharpness of his teeth as he bit into her. Natasha cried out and squirmed, but he held her too tightly. He laughed and she bristled. This wasn’t Steve. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have forgotten what he was? Because she allowed herself to care about him. She liked what she had with him. It was easy to like. She was so easy with him. Tears burned in her eyes. This couldn’t be how this ended. She couldn’t lose him again. She couldn’t face anymore loss. 

“Steve” she gasped. He pulled away to look at her. He recognized her, clearly, but he had lost that spark of humanity that she had come to like. A glimmer of cruelty took its place and he smiled widely at her.  _ Come back to me.  _ She begged. But she didn’t know how to make him. Her look of rage and anguish sparked a sadistic laugh. He enjoyed this. He liked this. Natasha remembered how gentle he was, how careful he was, imagined the dozens of times he held her, smoothed her hair from her face. There was nothing of that here. He held her tightly, crushing her against the wall with his body. She couldn’t move, couldn’t twist free. 

Delighted, Steve gave her one last once over, scanning her up and down with a wolfish grin before tilting his head to resume drinking from her. In a fit of frustration, Natasha reeled her head back and smashed her forehead into his nose. He winced and pressed her closer to the wall with a growl, moving close enough that their noses almost touched. She could see the fury, the rage in him. He was exactly like when they first met. That faint hope in Natasha of getting back Steve—kind, gentle, caring— dimmed. Seeing the hope fade from her made him smile, she could practically feel his lips twist. She wanted her friend back, she wanted Steve back. She imagined him, silver eyes gleaming as he carried her, face soft as she told him about herself. She didn’t hate him. She couldn’t hate him. But she couldn’t save him either. He would kill her as he had once promised and she couldn’t hate him for it. She just wanted her Steve back. 

Natasha closed her eyes and leaned forward, gently pressing her lips to his in a chaste kiss. 

She wasn’t sure what she was hoping for, this desperate attempt to get him back. Natasha could taste her own blood on his lips as he stood frozen against her. Steve made no attempt to move, and Natasha pulled away. She eyed him carefully, appraising the blank look on his face, eyes a little too wide like he had no idea how to interpret the gesture. His grip on her relaxed a little. 

“Steve” she tried again. 

When he looked at her, he seemed to come back to himself, as if waking from a dream. That flash of cruelty dissolved and Natasha nearly cried in relief. But his look was different, hardened with worry as he slowly released her. Backing away in disbelief, Natasha could see the anguish blooming on Steve’s face. He shook his head, as if rejecting what he had done. Natasha’s heart told her to follow, to soothe his agony, to hold him, make him understand that she didn’t hate him. But her brain wouldn’t let her. The stinging pain in her neck wouldn’t let her. She just froze in anticipation, waiting to see if he would attack her again, her trust shattered. Steve just closed his eyes, and covered his mouth with his hand in a picture of absolute misery. Natasha relaxed a little, exhaling slowly as she watched him. She felt a small modicum of trust return, but she knew things wouldn’t be the same between them. She could forgive his violent outbursts and actions against the horde, but he was slowly becoming more unstable. That was clear now. She had overlooked this because she had hoped it wasn’t true, but she was losing her Steve. She was losing her friend to the darkness inside him and she didn’t know how to save him. Silently, Natasha made herself approach him to hesitantly touch his arm. His eyes fluttered open. 

“Let’s go,” she said softly. 

Steve helped her out of the basement, boosting her up back through the hole she had fallen through. It was too dark to go anywhere else now, they were stuck here for the night. Natasha could hear the screams of the horde in the distance and hoped they hadn’t heard the commotion or smelled her blood. She settled herself on the dusty floor, feeling too shaky and wired to even dream of sleep. Her brain had her on high alert as Steve joined her in the room. She wanted more than anything for this to not be real. Her body ached. Her neck stung. She wished they could go back, that she could lean against him, that she could draw strength from him. But he wouldn’t even look her in the eye anymore. His trust in himself was shattered as well. He sat across from her, folding in on himself. She couldn’t make herself go to him. They sat like that for a long time, eventually the adrenaline in Natasha dissipated and the aching stiffness returned. She whimpered when she moved to sit more comfortably. She could feel him move in the darkness and she had to fight the sense of danger that still lingered with her, when he stood and hesitantly sat next to her. He was stiff and unyielding next to her. When Steve finally moved to look at her, she flinched, eyeing him warily. He seemed to deflate at her expression, it was too dark for Natasha to see him properly, though he could see her easily in the dark. 

“Natasha” his voice was a low, husky whisper. The dullness of it pulled at her. She felt him shift, his fingers gently brushed on her arms. The gentleness made her relax a little as she remembered the familiarity of it. Steve traced the places he had grabbed her. He paused a little, brushing at the dried blood on her neck, the graze of his claws on her skin sent a shiver through her. Natasha imagined him studying her, surveying everything he had done and keeping a tally of all the ways he had hurt her. A thrill of surprise shot through her when she felt his thumb brush the gash on her neck.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispered. He was full of such remorse, such awful pain.

Natasha leaned her head against his shoulder and they breathed, sitting like this for a while before she pulled away. She wanted to tell him it was okay. That she knew he didn’t mean to hurt her. But it wasn’t okay. He wasn’t okay and neither was she. Natasha turned away and curled up against her pack, feigning sleep for a long while, keeping an ear out any time she heard Steve move. She didn’t know when she fell asleep, but the following morning she awoke to another grey day. It was early morning and the soft light pulled her from her rest. She blinked, looking around the room. Steve was gone. Something told her that this time, he wasn’t coming back. Natasha tried not to let that thought crush her, tried to resist the empty hole widening within her, but she couldn’t stop the bitter tears that escaped her. 

Natasha worked methodically, cleaning her gear and sorting what was left of her provisions before she left the relative safety of the safehouse. It was hard not to let Steve’s absence weigh on her, but she felt hollow and alone. Each step was a painful reminder of her fight the night before as she moved on in a daze. The pain in her neck where he had bitten her was a mark that he wasn’t there, that he had lost himself completely to the darkness inside him. Natasha couldn’t help but think of where he might be now. What he might be doing and feeling. But she had to put that aside. She was on her own now, returning home without him. She was still days away from Shield and the familiarity that it offered. Right now, that felt like a much needed promise. She wanted to see Sam again, and Fury, and her little potted rosemary plant. She wanted to go home. 

It felt childish, but she was so empty. She had lost so much in the past month. How could she have let herself be so vulnerable with Steve? How could she have not noticed the signs sooner? It was a mistake that could’ve gotten her killed. Natasha sighed and readjusted her pack. She needed to keep her head in the game. It would be easy to give into this feeling of grief, this empty hole widening deep inside her, but she needed to be careful. She was travelling on her own now, a dangerous prospect for anyone to navigate, but she was particularly vulnerable with her injuries. She didn’t need to make things harder by compounding her grief on top of that. 

Natasha was on automatic ever since she lost Clint, moving forward fueled by a singular purpose. Whatever she had with Steve had distracted her from that. Now that he was gone, she gave herself to this numbness, soldiering on in a haze she couldn’t pull herself from. She spent the first night in the next safehouse without Steve. As she curled on her bedroll, she was struck by how quiet it all was. There were no sounds of the horde moving, no visits from strangers, or Clint snoring, or Steve humming or stroking her hair. It ate her up inside. She hadn’t felt like this since she was left in the burning ruin of her village as a child. She never really wanted to be alone, but here she was. Was this the price of building connections and opening herself to others? Was this what she was always meant to be? Alone and afraid? 

Natasha rolled over and stared at the door until the sun came up and she got up and mechanically packed her things and left. 

The next day felt so much like the first as she trudged onward at an even pace. She still felt that urgency to return, to report to Fury and warn them of the coming attack. It was the one thing she had left, so she gave herself to it, devoting her time and attention and energy to it like a woman possessed. It spurred her onward, made her cautious, relentless. She exhausted herself and then kept going, giving in to anger. It was better than grief. She couldn’t work with grief.  _ You never should’ve let yourself grow so close to him _ , she chided,  _ You almost forgot your mission.  _ The thought made her cheeks flush in anger and she pushed forward to the next safehouse. Two more days and she would be back at Shield. She could complete her mission and then allow herself to feel whatever she was going to feel about everything that had happened. Now wasn’t the time or place. At night she still missed him. It was hard not to. 

The next two days were a miserable trek, but Natasha fed her anger and her need to get home. Step by step she made her way back down the safehouse route, feeling reassured that they were still intact. She was going to make it and everything would make sense again. She could pick up the pieces of her life and start to weigh her options. There would be a war coming, and she needed to prepare for that. Steve was gone and she couldn’t do anything about that now. She didn't want to let herself dwell too long on it. 

Finally, after days of long walks and loss and strangers and losing whatever she had had with Steve, she returned down the familiar road, relief rising in her chest. She was nearly home. She could relay the news to Fury of everything that passed. She wouldn’t have to carry this alone anymore. She could grieve for Clint. She could prepare for Shield’s stand against Hydra. But when she came to the clearing, the familiar space that she had loved, that had been her home, the place she had grown up— her heart stopped. Natasha couldn’t comprehend what she was looking at. 

There was nothing. The metal perimeter fences were a twisted snarl, the tank barricades warped and broken. Craters marked the earth where the minefield had been set off. But the building itself— the sturdy wedge of concrete she had called home, was an unrecognizable ruin. 

She was too late. 

Natasha couldn’t stop herself. She needed to see if this was real. There was no way this was real. This was the stronghold of Europe. The most powerful of Shield’s fortresses. It couldn’t be… and yet—

She sprinted, stirring up ashes, sending them swirling like snowflakes in the air as she searched. Desperation set in as she flipped over charred debris, grunting like an animal. She churned the rubble in disbelief, unable to accept what she was seeing, what she was touching. As she dug, hysteria rising in her chest, she only recovered corpses, rubble, ashes. Reality set in, her home was gone. Shield was gone. She was too late. Days too late.

Natasha howled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha oh boy! So this was a lot, I know. Perhaps some of you felt that the past three chapters were too good to be true! Poor Natasha gets one-two sucker punched. 
> 
> Next chapter will be out probably closer to Sunday next week.


	19. Black Widow

The first night Natasha was alone in the smouldering ruin of Shield, she fully expected to die. There were a few infected, searching, wandering, drawn by the commotion. But Natasha couldn’t remember what became of them. She must’ve slaughtered them, picking them off silently as they straggled behind the horde. But she hardly remembered that first night. The wind had kicked up, stirring the embers into flame and spreading to the remains of the compounds. The inky dark was illuminated by the fire that ravaged the annex and sleeping quarters. She shivered, staying close to the bright, burning glow that bathed the ruin in a wash of yellow and drove the infected away, watching the treeline for signs of movement. She was nearly feral, her eyes never stopping their desperate search for the infected. They couldn’t be gone. There had to be more… When dawn broke, she hardly realized what time it was. 

The day was spent in terrible silence. As she searched, she uncovered some supplies, food or water here and there and she tore into it like a savage animal. Natasha picked through the ruins, moving rubble and debris in a haze. She wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking for anymore. A sign, maybe. Something that would tell her that everyone here wasn’t dead. She was looking for hope. As she dug through the debris, Natasha heard the muffled cries trapped beneath the charred rubble and fear shot through her like lightning. She wanted to speak to someone. Anyone. Natasha pulled away the smouldering debris, grunting and hoarsely calling out to the person trapped below. The concrete and old beams trapped the heat of the fire, and the material of her gloves singed and burned away. It barely registered that her hands were burning, that they began to blister and bleed. Her skin peeled and popped open as she pushed aside burnt debris, pulled corpses from the rubble. She had to save whoever it was. She had to take something away from all of this. They couldn’t all be dead… As she worked, the cries became louder, spurring her to keep going despite her skinned knuckles and painful, ruined hands. She was getting close. The buried survivor cried out and she jumped when their hand shot from the rubble to reach for her. As he pulled himself free, Natasha’s heart sank. 

He shrieked and spat, clawing at her leg where she stood frozen in front of him. Natasha sagged, shaking as she watched him numbly. His eyes dripped black and his skin began to bubble and blister in the light of the sun. The laughter bubbled up in small fits at first as she watched the infected hunter struggle and burn. Natasha withdrew her axe and split his skull open, cleaving a deep vee into his head. He gurgled and she laughed. The sound ugly and hollow as it echoed over the empty ruin. She held her axe high overhead and finished the job. 

For three days she searched the ruins in a near catatonic state. The horde had moved on, it seemed. Abandoned this place after destroying it utterly. She waited each night, but there was nothing left here. She couldn’t even avenge the hunters buried in the ruin by killing infected. She became like a spectre, haunting the ruin of her home. Each time she hoped to find someone, anyone who was still alive. She found more infected, more corpses. Each time she lost a little piece of herself. There was nothing here. There was nothing left for her at all. She was alone.

At nightfall she sat on the edge of compound in the smoldering embers of what used to be the sleeping quarters. The embers had finally been extinguished and the fires smouldered in a smoking, dying haze. Natasha couldn’t think what to do next. She couldn’t feel anything at all. She had failed. Shield had lost… 

From the treeline, the figure approached, and she withdrew her axes, teeth bared. Finally, the horde had returned. Hot, dark anger flashed inside her, consuming her in a terrible rage. She could have the death she always dreamed she would— fighting and bloody. She knew she looked inhuman, ghoulish. After days spent digging in the ruin, she was smeared grey from head to toe with ash and soot. Her vibrant red hair was ashen, her green eyes terrible and bright with rage, even her teeth, the inside of her mouth were coated with ash. Tear tracks cut lines through the grime, and the lines in her face seemed like chasms coated in the debris. She prepared for a fight, to destroy whoever came for her, tightly gripping her weapons until her blistered, shaking hands bled. Even if it was just one. She wanted to take just one infected with her… In the evening light she could see it was Steve. The fight went out of her and she just laughed, the sound bitter and empty as it echoed through the ruin of her home. 

This wasn’t real either. Steve was gone— he couldn’t live knowing he had hurt her, so he protected her the only way he could. He had abandoned her and she returned to find this on her own. It had nearly destroyed her, but it was made so much heartbreakingly worse that he hadn’t been there with her. Seeing him approach pulled something so dark, so angry from within her that she felt she would shatter into a million tiny pieces. Seeing the horde would’ve been a mercy. Fighting until she died would’ve been a mercy. Of all the things that her grief stricken brain could have imagined, she never wanted to imagine him here in front of her. It felt like dying. It must be a joke. So she laughed hideously, hysterically, until her sides hurt, until her throat burned and tears tracked down her ashy face. 

When she felt herself pulled into him, her eyes fluttered open. Objectively she understood what was happening, she could feel that he held her, hear that he spoke to her, but it was unbelievable. A joke. Her laughter changed pitch, transformed into something terrible. Her hands searched, snaking under his arms to figure out what was happening. Everything in her came to the same conclusion. 

He was really here. Her laughter died in her throat and Natasha sagged and sobbed against him, burying her face into his chest. He couldn’t hold her tight enough. He couldn’t be sorry enough. Nothing would be enough to fill this terrible break inside of her. Shield was gone. Her home was gone. Reduced to ash. 

She didn’t care that he picked her up, or that he was taking her somewhere far away from this place. It didn’t matter. She just buried her face against him and wept. 

* * *

It didn’t really register where Steve had brought her. She was too mired in grief to care. Natasha was vaguely aware that she was in a little cabin of some kind. A former safehouse or a colony hunting cabin maybe. It was charming, warm. But Natasha could only stare numbly at the floor in front of her, her vision blurry as tears spilled from her. She heard Steve speak, but it didn’t really register. He crouched in front of her where she sat and he smoothed her tired skin with a look of pained helplessness. He withdrew his hand from her face and moved somewhere else in the room. She couldn’t bring herself to watch him. This wasn’t any more real than anything else. It was best not to get her hopes up anymore. It was best not to feel anything anymore. When he returned, he had a little basin of water and a cloth to wipe the grey from her hands and her neck and face. The water was cold. 

As he gently wiped her burnt, bleeding, mangled hands, a look of bitter sadness overtook his features. That registered with her a little. Maybe he understood something of what she was feeling. Steve cleaned her hands as best as he could, and wrapped them in gauze. He had taken first aid for her, she remembered, just in case.That seemed like a lifetime ago. Suddenly, she felt so exhausted. She hadn’t slept since she found Shield as a smoking ruin three days ago. She felt ill, her mouth dry and ashy and coated. It tasted bitter, acidic like bile and Natasha gagged, her whole body wrenching and trembling . If she had had anything in her stomach, she would’ve vomited. She gagged again, and gasped, drawing in a ragged breath. Steve stood and rushed away and Natasha spat and wiped her mouth dazedly. Steve returned with water for her and she looked up at him like she didn’t know what to do with it. Cautiously, he guided her to drink it, holding a cup to her lips and cradling her back. It was cool on her tongue and she let it wash through her greedily. When she was finished, Steve asked her something. She wasn’t quite sure what. 

“I just want to sleep,” she heard herself say. She sounded like a stranger. Her voice was ragged, raw.

Steve asked her something else, muffled and muddled. 

“Just let me sleep,” she repeated. 

He eased her down. She had been sitting on a little double cot with a cotton stuffed mattress. Steve guided her to lie on her side. She was grateful for it, she wouldn’t have known what to do otherwise. He knelt by her side and she stared at the wooden floorboards. She wasn’t sure when her eyes shut. She didn’t dream. 

When Natasha awoke, it was grey. She had no idea what time it was, but she could hear the soft patter of a downpour outside and smelled the fresh ozone scent of rain in the air. Her head pounded, her stomach was painfully empty and her hands throbbed. She twitched, sliding her greasy, puffy eyelids open to look at the wall in front of her with her sandy, dry eyes. She hadn’t moved an inch in her sleep. For a moment, her unfamiliar surroundings sent a wave of shock through her as she struggled to remember how she got here. She eyed her bandaged hands with a frown. Steve. She remembered he had come back. Natasha unglued her tongue from the roof of her mouth and pushed herself to sit. Everything hurt, she was hollow. For a moment, she slid her eyes shut and listened to the sound of the falling rain outside, moving her fingers carefully, one digit at a time as she did. Her hands were pretty badly burnt, she realized. The pain that shot through her hands and wrists when her skin folded and creased was nearly unbearable. She’d be lucky if there wasn’t any nerve damage. But the pain steadied her. 

Natasha opened her eyes and stared down at her fingers, dirty compared to the stark white of the gauze. She focused on the dirt embedded under her nails with a detached interest. It was grey. She tracked the colour, noticing it on her legs, her jacket. _ Ash _. Her brain supplied. 

All at once the fog of her grief lifted and for a brief moment she was consumed by terror. Covered in the ashes of the ruin of her home, she felt like she wanted to crawl out of her own skin. Hastily she tore off her jacket, throwing it into a heap on the floor as she fumbled with her belt. Everything was grey. Whose ashes were these? She wore them like a second skin. Furiously she whipped off her pants, sending grey flakes flying around her. It was everywhere. She panicked, panting as she scrubbed her hair, threw off her undershirt, unlaced her boots. She couldn’t get each article off fast enough. Her hands burst open, blood oozing into the gauze as she panted and struggled to strip each piece of clothing from her until she stood in nothing but her underwear. But it was still on her, she could feel the grey, the ashes, stuck in her scalp, in her ears, in her nose and the corners of her eyes. Without hesitation she ran into the downpour outside, but it could never wash this off fast enough. 

The rain was cold as it lashed her aching, exhausted body. Natasha scrubbed her greyed skin, watching as the ashes and dust dripped from her in black rivulets. She felt untethered, purposeless, the grass cold and damp beneath her feet as she stood panting in the rain. Natasha shakily unbraided her hair and stood, trembling and waiting for the rain to soak her through, to wash away the evidence of her failure. 

She couldn’t save any of them.

Her tears were hot as they streaked down her face, mingling with the rain as it dripped from her chin. The weight of her exhaustion consumed her, crushing and oppressive. But she made herself stand there, shivering as she let the rain cleanse her. She had no idea how long she was out there, but she was thoroughly soaked. Her teeth chattered and her muscles trembled but she just stood. When a gentle touch on her arm pulled her back toward the cabin, she didn’t resist. 

“Come back inside,” Steve said. He sounded distant, leagues away from where she stood. Natasha’s knees almost gave out and Steve supported her against him and guided her back. She wished for a fleeting moment that he was warm, that he could lift this chill settling on her from the inside out. But his skin was as cold as the ground beneath her feet. 

Steve sat her gently on the bed and got a fire going in the small hearth. Natasha just watched him dully, her body sagging as she sat on the little mattress. Once Steve built the fire, he turned and withdrew a towel from the supply cache trunk and, gauging Natasha for a response, began drying her off. She just let him do whatever he liked. It made no difference to her. Steve dried her skin gently, starting with her legs and working his way up her body. He toweled her hair dry while she shivered numbly. When he had her relatively dry, he pulled a blanket around her shoulders to try and warm her up. Noticing the bloody and ashy gauze coming loose around her palms, he turned his attention to her hands with a look of concern and gently took her by the wrists. He looked devastated when he turned her hands over to reveal the greyed and bloody gauze wrapping her palms. Gently he unwound the material and inspected the blistered and oozing skin. Her fingers shook from the pain as it radiated and pulsed and worked its way up her wrists. She could hardly move them. They were a deep red, skin cracked and yellowed around the burst blisters on her palms. Steve silently disinfected them as best as he could and applied new wraps. As he worked, Natasha stared blankly ahead, watching the growing fire and shaking harder. 

Embers. The first night she was there, there was a fire. 

She could feel Steve carefully inspect her body, his fingers gentle and prodding as he skimmed her mottled and bruised skin. She had been cut in a few places. She didn’t know how that happened. Or when. She was numb when he repeated that process of cleaning wounds and dressing them. If he spoke, it didn’t register. She just watched the growing fire. She arched a little when he drew the blanket down from her shoulders and his fingers inspected her back. He was cold. 

The sensation was enough to draw her from the numb haze and she inhaled sharply and bowed her head to watch her hands. There was a painful bruise on her shoulder blade that stretched and ached when she moved. It pulled her away from the numbness and into a singular, accusatory thought… 

“Why did you leave?” she whispered, voice so small and broken in the silence of the little cabin. She didn’t really need to know. She understood why he left, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking. It didn’t stop her from thinking… They might’ve made it in time if he had stayed. 

Steve paused behind her and withdrew his hands from her back to slide the blanket back over her shoulders. “I was trying to protect you, Natasha.” 

Tears, large and hot, spilled over and rolled down her cheeks. She knew. She understood why. 

But her breath hitched and she crumpled in on herself, shaking fingers curling into a loose, painful fist. Steve moved to sit on the edge of the bed, his back to her. She glanced at him, watching him rub his cheek tiredly. He seemed to carry the weight of all of this on her shoulders as he sagged on the little bed. It was almost funny to see him, large and imposing in such a little space. Almost… 

“It’s not good enough, I know,” he said flatly as he watched the floor on the edge of the bed. “I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t live with myself, knowing that I hurt you like that.” 

Natasha turned back to watch the little fire in the hearth. Its heat finally reached her, seeping into her skin. She was transfixed by the flames. They made her heart race. He could’ve said anything and it wouldn’t have made a difference. There was no answer that would help her, anyway. She was way past being angry. She was broken.

“I needed you,” she admitted miserably, “I needed you, Steve.” 

His words reverberated through her as he spoke, or maybe it was just the tremble of her body as the fire heated her skin.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. 

They sat in silence for a long time before Steve finally got up. Natasha just sat and shivered in her damp undergarments, watching the fire. She didn’t think that she had fallen asleep, but time bled into a meaningless passing of hours. She must’ve slept though, because she didn’t remember lying down. Steve must’ve moved her. When she woke up, she was curled on her side, wrapped in her blanket.

* * *

Natasha spent a lot of time trying to come to grips with the loss of Shield. This would mean that the survivor colonies would likely be gone too. The other bases were likely lost as well— destroyed in one fell swoop just as Madame Hydra had promised. She wasn’t sure if she could face going there to find out. And what was she meant to do if she got there? Stop Hydra on her own? 

Worse still, she was paralyzed by the thought of arriving to find another ruin. She couldn’t handle any more loss. It was irrational, but she felt like the last person on Earth— powerless and helpless as she was the day she killed her father. She hadn’t been able to bury her family that day, either. 

In the handful of days that passed, Steve seemed afraid to touch her, like she might break if he did. Or that she wouldn’t want him to after what he did. But Natasha was never afraid of him. She was too numb to feel much of anything. Occasionally, his eyes would catch the light in the evening as he changed her bandages or made her eat, but it only ever sent a wave of sadness through her. It was enough that he was here now with her, but sometimes she was reminded that she would lose him again to that darkness that drove him from her. He must know. It would be plainly written on her face. She couldn’t disguise what she was feeling much anymore. If she ever felt anything other than that emptiness inside her. He must notice the way she looked at him— with terrible sadness, with anger, with heartbreak. But he never let it show if it bothered him. Instead, he was a constant presence, hovering nearby and not saying much. 

She was glad to have him though for the time being. He offered comfort, familiarity. His presence was like a life ring— something she could hold onto that made sense. When he was with her, she could feel that she hadn’t lost him forever. But everything felt temporary and fleeting. He wouldn’t last. Nothing did. He would leave and she would be alone.

But Steve stayed ever present, never leaving her to go further than outside. He set up the camping shower for her, but it was another day or two before he made her use it. She had to be made to do things now. She was lost without him guiding her gently to take care of herself. Natasha ate the provisions he gave her, and showered when he suggested it, and slept when he guided her to bed each night. They fell into a routine. She treated each of his requests like it was a mission, fulfilling it dutifully and completely. She was good at that. She could follow orders.

Steve continued to check her hands and other injuries carefully each day, watching for signs of infection. They still throbbed, pain radiating through her with the beat of her heart. It hurt so badly that it kept her up most nights. She kept them over her heart, taking this punishment silently and without complaint, tears leaking from her eyes and into her hairline. It was the price of her failure, she reasoned. The skin would likely scar. She would be left with a visible reminder of everything she had lost. She seemed to be collecting those these days. Marks etched into her body like physical manifestations of her memories. A mark on her leg when Steve first met her and tried to kill her, a mark on her face for Madame Hydra’s cruelty and the last time she saw Clint, and now scars on her hands from losing her home. 

As night fell, Natasha was guided down onto her bed as routine dictated. He had made her eat, and shower, and he had checked her injuries for the day. They were healing, she noticed, and it gave her a hot pang of dark, ugly rage. It didn’t make sense that she could shed that loss over time. It didn’t make sense that she was still here at all. Steve smoothed her hair from her forehead lightly and pulled the blanket over her. She just turned and numbly watched the wall. That was part of the routine, too. 

“Try to get some sleep,” he said softly, withdrawing from her with that sense of regret. He still didn’t want to touch her. Natasha told herself she didn’t deserve that comfort, anyway. Her eyes were heavy and she nodded and Steve stood and left to occupy himself with something else in the little one roomed cabin. Natasha counted her breaths and slowly, slowly, her eyes slid shut. 

She dreamed that night. She was back in the familiar little square room of hers at the Shield base. The little potted rosemary plant sat on her desk next to Steve’s sketchbook. Distantly, she could hear the sounds of thunder, of the horde shrieking as they slaughtered their screaming victims. But it was removed from her—far away… Idly, she opened the sketchbook, flipping through the familiar drawings, humming the song her father used to sing. There was the image of Carter again, the image of her that Steve had drawn. She seemed sadder, somehow. Natasha turned the page. There was a drawing of Clint, infected and feral, begging her to die. Frowning, she turned the page, her skin prickling in fear. A drawing of Sam, his throat torn open, face frozen in horror. Next to him, an image of Fury, skull crushed and broken open like a piece of dropped fruit. Sarah with her neck broken, her team, gutted and eviscerated, covered in flies, Rumlow, headless, Sitwell a gouge cut so deep into his head, his brains were visible. 

Natasha was breathing raggedly as frantically flipped through images. Her father, knife plunged through his heart, her mother with her face torn open, her grandmother pleading for her daughter’s life as she bled out. Tears tracked down Natasha’s cheeks as she came to the

final page. An image of her torn limb from limb by the horde. From outside the door of her room, the stranger spoke softly, his dangerous purr reverberated in the room like an echo. “Let us in, Natasha,” he asked. 

A chorus of voices repeated what he said in a symphony of unearthly shrieks. She could hear her parents among them, she could hear Sam, and Fury and Clint. _ Open the door, Natasha, _they taunted. The walls closed in and the door rattled in its frame. The voices melded into a singular screech and Natasha covered her ears and sank to the floor. “Stop it,” she cried. 

“Where’s your friend, Natasha?” The stranger asked. _ Where’s your friend, Natasha? _The horde repeated. Not here. Steve was gone. 

“Stop it!” she screamed. 

The door rattled and she sank to her knees and cowered on the floor of her room, futilely trying to block out the thunderous chorus of voices. “Where’s Steve, Natasha?” She burst into tears and shook her head. Her neck was bleeding, the stinging bite marks gushed blood down her throat and onto the concrete floor. She heard the door burst open, and thousands of glowing eyes and glinting teeth descended on her.

Natasha jolted upright with a scream. 

She didn’t recognize anything around her. It was dark and she shook furiously, her heart threatening to burst in her chest. Before she could even collect herself enough to know that none of that was real, Steve was there, gently smoothing her sweaty brow as she trembled and panted. Natasha burst into tears then. All of the pent up grief and rage and fear poured from her like a dam bursting. She burrowed into Steve, sagging heavily against him. 

“You were dreaming,” he murmured into her hair as he held her tightly, “it wasn’t real Natasha.” 

Except that it was. Parts of it were true. She just shook her head and sobbed, her hands throbbing and resting uselessly in her lap. Steve rocked her a little and petted her hair in slow, even strokes as she cowered and cried against his shoulder. They sat like that for a long time until Natasha had nothing left in her. She had no tears left, nothing left to give to this. She was spent.

It was clear now that sleep would offer no reprieve from her waking grief. Not when she dreamed of all those people who had given everything for no fucking reason at all. The tragedy of it was that none of them really lived. They ground and toiled and aged. They gave their bodies and blood and tears. They gave their friends, they gave their lives, but none of them had anything to show for it. They were buried in the rubble of Shield and their hopes of saving humanity were buried with them. 

Natasha pulled away from Steve a little and drew a shuddering breath and pressed her fingers against her eyes tightly. She was so tired of crying. It was all she seemed to know how to do now. But it was weak. It helped absolutely no one to be like this. It served no purpose at all. She was a helpless child again. Over the years, she had learned to repress, to fight, to protect others from this feeling because it was paralyzing, all consuming. Nobody should feel like this. As she sat trembling and choking on empty sobs, she realized this was what motivated her to be a hunter. Anger aside, hatred aside. She wanted to protect people from this feeling more than anything. Natasha grunted and pressed her eyes harder until spots danced on her vision. She couldn’t save any of them. She couldn’t even save herself from this awful feeling. Before she could punish herself further, Steve was pulling her hands away from her eyes, looking at her with such gentleness it made her feel ashamed of doing this to herself. 

“What can I do, Natasha?” he asked quietly, swiping an errant tear from her cheek with his thumb. 

She swallowed thickly. She didn’t want anything anymore, but she was so terribly afraid to be alone. “Stay,” she said, voice wavering. 

Steve gave her a little smile and laid her back down in bed. He moved to sit a little more comfortably, to keep watch over her as she slept. But Natasha didn’t want him there. She sat up and took him by the shoulders and gently pulled him to lie down with her. Steve seemed a little surprised as she guided him onto the mattress, a little hesitant, but it was her turn to guide him now. She watched him for a moment, lying beneath her and looking up at her with a look of desperate concern. But she just lay down and settled into him. Her head rested against his chest and she wrapped her arm around his waist. Steve paused for a moment, seemingly unsure with the contact, like she was fragile and he didn’t know how to handle her, or that she shouldn’t want him close like this. But Natasha pressed into him and he exhaled slowly, his breath stirring the flyaways framing her forehead. Slowly, his arms circled around her back and he turned on his side to press his body into hers. He seemed shy when she curled around him needily. She fit her knee between his legs, her calf wrapping around his in her desire for contact, for closeness. She settled against him and sighed. 

For a moment she lay in silence, listening to the wild beat of her heart as she struggled to push away the terrible fear the nightmare had left her with. Natasha blinked, eyes fixed on the fabric of Steve’s shirt, feeling the gentle rise and fall of him as he breathed. His closeness helped to settle her a little bit and she nuzzled against him, hiding her face in his chest. Wrapped in her covers, the chill of him didn’t bother her, but it felt nice against her swollen eyes and burnt palms. She lay for a moment with her hand resting on his hip, fingers toying with the hem of his shirt before, selfishly, she slid her blistered hands under the fabric to ease the radiating pain against the cool skin of his back. Steve inhaled, his body going rigid at her touch. The relief on her painful skin was immediate and she spread her fingers wide to take in more of that delicious chill. There was a scar on the small of his back— something he must have gotten in the time before. She traced it absently with her middle finger, smoothing along the ridged surface of the mark. It went from just above his hip and stopped at his spine. When she found its edge, she traced its length in the opposite direction, taking whatever sensation she could from him. In response, Steve curled into her with a little shudder and his arms encircled her more securely. She felt the tickle of his claws as his fingers delicately traced the curve of her spine in a slow, soothing motion. It sent goosebumps through her. It was strange to think how much she wanted this. How much she had craved contact, being held, feeling safe and her eyes fluttered closed. Steve held her so wonderfully tight and for the first time since all of this happened, she felt like she could breathe. 

* * *

When she awoke, she was still in his arms. She didn’t remember falling asleep, though she had desperately needed it. Natasha inhaled deeply as she came back to awareness, breathing in the smell of him— fresh, earthy, she decided, like the forest after a rainstorm. She hummed softly, raising her chin so that her nose dipped into the hollow of his throat. Steve shifted as she awoke, pulling away a little to look at her. Immediately, she was sorry for the loss of contact. She felt exposed when she couldn’t hide in his chest anymore, and the emptiness inside her returned. It felt a little less crushing, a little less smothering, but it came back all the same. The grief she felt had swallowed her whole, broken her apart. She had no home. Everything she had lived for, her whole life was gone. 

Why couldn’t she just stay asleep there in his arms? Why did she have to be reminded of this nothingness inside her when she woke up? She stared at the dark fabric of his shirt again, her vision unfocused and distant. Steve swept the hair from her face tentatively, eyes searching. There was no reason that he stayed— he didn’t need sleep like she did, but he just held her as she rested. The thought gave her a little pang of something unrecognizable. Groggily, she shifted, slipping from his embrace to sit up and look more closely at her surroundings. She had been here for almost a week if she remembered correctly, but she had never really seen her surroundings. It was a little one roomed cabin. There was a small fireplace with a spit roasting rack over it and a few wooden chairs. In the corner Natasha recognized a Shield supply cache. It didn’t seem as utilitarian as hunter safehouses, maybe it was for colony food gatherers instead. From beneath the crack in the door, Natasha could see that it was approaching sunset already. She must’ve slept the whole day. Steve shifted beside her, propping himself up on his elbows. 

“Are you hungry?” he asked, watching her like she was a wounded animal. 

Natasha just nodded numbly and he moved to sit on the edge of the bed, stretching a little as he did. It didn’t matter that it didn’t make sense, but her brain could only think that he was leaving her. He was tired of her. The hole in her widened, sending her dangerously close to the edge again. When did she become so needy? When did she become so lost? She had always lived with a purpose, with orders, with missions and goals and plans. She was terrified to think of being set adrift. 

She reached out and pulled herself into his back. She buried her face between his shoulder blades and spread her hands over his heart. “Just— wait,” she pleaded. She hated herself for being like this— so weak, so insecure. But Steve just reached up and took her hands in his. He didn’t move, or protest, or say anything. He just stayed with her. 

Natasha breathed against him, her eyes fluttering shut. Finally he turned in her grasp, and she let go of him hesitantly, shyly. She was embarrassed of her own neediness and shrank back a bit to give him space, but Steve just turned to face her and circled his arms around her. 

“Do you want to stay like that for a little while longer?” he asked gently. 

Natasha just nodded, her hands moving to his neck of their own accord and he tilted his head a little, offering her a tender smile. He seemed reluctant to touch her still, but she couldn’t be bothered with that now. She craved him. Steve shifted her, taking her by the small of her back and laying her back down on the little cot. He followed her down, tucking them both more comfortably under the covers before curling against her again. Natasha turned into him, finding that she enjoyed the comfort of hiding against his chest. Steve seemed so at ease, like he was relieved she was at least speaking now. Oddly, his skin was lukewarm from the constant contact with her. This fascinated Natasha and she nuzzled into him, drawing a deep sigh from him. They lay together for a while longer, Natasha coveting his tight embrace, his steadfastness. He was solid, he was an anchor. He wasn’t going anywhere. 

In the days following, Natasha began to rebuild. She restructured her life, trying to pick up the pieces of whatever was left. They had returned to their normal routine, but Natasha found that she was able to do many of the tasks on her own now. She ate when she was hungry, she dressed herself and showered. Steve’s relief was palpable. But every step toward healing was met with plenty of stumbling blocks. She often faltered and succumbed to the terrible numbness in her. But Steve never left her. She was becoming a little more accepting of that now. He was here. He wasn’t leaving. It didn’t stop her from fearing he might and she often found herself holding on to him. But Steve was patient. He allowed her to be as needy and touch starved as she liked. 

After that nightmare, she slept alone for a few more nights, but it wasn’t long before the bad dreams returned. She was no longer held under grief’s immobilizing weight, and that meant that all that remained for her was facing what had happened. She often dreamt of her mother, of Shield, of Clint and Sam. She dreamt of Madame Hydra and the stranger. On those nights she woke up screaming. But Steve was always there after each nightmare. Just like on the first night, she asked him to stay with her. It was embarrassing how much she needed him. She would curl into him like he was an oasis in this ocean of misery. He was the one thing in her life that had stayed. 

As the nights progressed, she didn’t have to ask anymore, he just slid into bed with her. It became part of the new routine. He would gently guide her to bed and she would shift over, waiting for him to lay next to her. It was selfish on her part. He didn’t sleep, so it must be boring to hold her like he did until she woke up. But he never seemed to mind. She couldn’t deny that she craved it. She was afraid now to sleep without him.

This morning he was gone when she woke up. He had told her that he would be. He told her that he was going to get provisions. Natasha knew that he had waited until she was more stable to do this— that he had waited nearly a week and a half, taking care of her and making sure she was alright, before he went anywhere. It shouldn’t eat at her like it did. It was understandable that he wouldn’t always want to stay while she slept, but the hole of sadness weighed on her when she woke up alone. If nothing else, she was scared of that. But it wasn’t fair to expect him to always support her like he had been doing. Natasha sighed and pushed the hair from her face. Last night she had a dream that she couldn’t quite remember and woke up shaking and hyperventilating, tears streaming down her face. It had taken her a long time to calm down, even with Steve there. He stayed up with her for hours while she clung to him. She must’ve fallen asleep in his arms. If he needed time alone today, then she was determined to give it to him. He only ever gave, and focused on her needs and it was time she returned the favour.

She got out of bed and stumbled into the tiny space of the cabin. The warmth of her bed disappeared and goosebumps raced across her skin. She had been sleeping in her under layer shorts and tank top and she located the uniforms trunk to pull on something a little warmer. There were winter under layers in there— large men’s sizes only— this cabin must’ve been out of use or decommissioned for a while, and she pulled one over her head. The Shield logo was emblazoned on the chest and she traced it idly, fingers gliding over the embroidered eagle with a sense of terrible longing. It hurt to look at. She sighed, suddenly feeling stifled in the little one roomed cabin and found herself heading for the door and out into the open air. 

Natasha drew a long breath, letting her lungs fill deeply with the sweet air. She took a moment to just stand there, her feet planted in the grass, the sun was pale and warm on her skin. It was painfully quiet out here. Distantly, birdsong echoed from the woods around her. Natasha exhaled and looked more closely at her surroundings. She hadn’t really been out since her impromptu shower. She had no idea where they were now. The woods encroached in on this place like a wall, surrounding and isolating. She had never been here before, the small cabin had a stone exterior, a little chimney, and heavy shuttered windows. Moss was steadily reclaiming its surface, pulling it into the nature around it like an infection. It felt strangely surreal out here, untouched by Shield or the horde or any of this for years. Left alone to decay and crumble in time. 

Natasha nervously played with her hair, feeling surrounded. The thick tangle of trees seemed to watch her as she stood trembling in the grass. She swallowed thickly, considering going back inside when she spotted Steve returning from the treeline. He had a Shield-issue bag slung over his shoulder that looked full of goods. He was back sooner than she had thought he would be. Maybe he didn’t want to leave her for long. Natasha swallowed thickly as she watched him, the light filtering through the trees and casting bright patterns on his golden hair. He looked tired, his expression tight and distant. 

She recognized that look. 

When he noticed her, his lips parted, surprised and maybe a little relieved to see her out. But his expression was still strained. He was thirsty. 

Natasha froze like a deer in the clearing, waiting for him to approach. It was an awful revelation that she was afraid. He had attacked her last time, her brain supplied. Natasha felt herself pale, felt the tingle of fear prickle her hairline, felt the painful throb of her pulse in her burned hands. Her thoughts spiralled— If she had been more insistent in offering her blood, would he have attacked her? Was what he did inevitable? She blamed herself. She blamed him. 

Steve came closer, but kept his distance. Maybe he saw the troubled expression on her face. Maybe he couldn’t stand the smell of her. She must reek of fear. Maybe it excited him. 

“Natasha.” He said her name with such kindness, such tenderness. The fragility in her returned, and she didn’t know what to feel anymore. She couldn’t save him, she knew. But she couldn’t stand the thought of losing him again, either. 

“I’m glad to see you up.” He moved to brush past her, but she found herself stopping him with a light touch on his arm. Her fingers were like the flutter of bird wings as she made him look at her. 

“How long has it been?” she asked softly. 

Steve’s eyes became hard, his lips pursed in a tight line. He refused to answer, eyes downcast. His silence was enough for Natasha— it had been too long. 

“Steve,” Natasha prompted gently, searching his tight expression.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said, “this is the last thing you need right now.” 

But Natasha didn’t know what she needed right now. 

“Steve please,” she said softly, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. 

He couldn’t look at her. His expression was stormy as he watched the ground at his feet. He refused to answer her. When she cupped Steve’s face he frowned deeply, his brows knit in anger. She guided him to look at her, to meet her eyes. It was strange, surreal. But that was her life now— a strange abstraction, a surreal collection of impossibilities. Steve finally met her gaze, his expression softening a little. Her thumb moved of its own volition when it swept across his cheek before she slid her hand away from him to trace her collarbone in contemplation. Her heart beat wildly and she watched him, wide-eyed as her fingers skimmed the hollow of her throat. Steve’s eyes tracked the movement of her fingers briefly and his lips parted. It sent a thrill of dread through her and Steve met her eyes again, his jaw clenched painfully tight. He should’ve left, he had once said. But she didn’t want that. It didn’t matter that he was infected, that he was an Old One. She didn’t want him to leave. Hesitantly, Natasha slipped the neckline of her shirt over her shoulder and moved the strap of her tank top out of the way to expose the flushed skin of her neck.

Steve was horrified, his expression becoming flinty as she watched her. Before he could back away, she took his hand and squeezed it. Steve swallowed and Natasha took a half step closer. He looked desperate, bitter, hateful. She wished he wouldn’t feel that way about this anymore. She wished she could be stronger for him. That he didn’t have to hate himself so much because of her. She was unbearably close, her eyes pleading. 

There was a beat, a long pause between them before he sighed, reaching up to gently sweep the hair from her neck with such agonized reluctance. His thumb smoothed over her pulse and along the ridge of her collarbone, making her shiver. He swallowed and leaned in, his lips hovering just above the delicate skin of her neck.

“You know I don’t want this,” he said quietly. 

His nose was already against her neck, his words were a rush of cool breath against her skin and she felt his lips move when he spoke. The sensation sent goosebumps down her body and her lips parted. Natasha inhaled shakily, willing herself to be more steady. They both knew he needed it. She gripped him closer, clinging tightly to him as she had every night. He drove the nightmares from her and she only wanted to do the same for him. 

“I know,” she said, voice sounding small in her own ears. 

Steve gently cupped her neck, guiding her to tilt her head to the side. Natasha swallowed thickly, heart beating wildly against her ribs like a bird trying to escape its cage. She felt Steve’s lips on her skin, his breath pooling at the nape of her neck as he hesitated for a moment before he sank his teeth into her. Natasha couldn’t help the little pained gasp forced its way from her lungs. She never knew where to put her hands as he drank, one flying to his wrist where he held her, the other sliding to his hip. 

It stung. It always stung, and her eyes fluttered shut. That pain steadied her somehow. It was strangely the most clear and vibrant thing she had felt in days. Steve seemed to come alive in her hands, his tongue caressed her skin, his body pressed into hers as he lost himself to this. She hissed when he leaned hungrily into her, sucking on the punctures in her flesh with an animalistic grunt. It made her heart race, fear flooding into her body. That seemed to set him off and Steve pulled her closer as his arms snaked around her waist. If she could think straight, she might’ve noticed he held her a little too tightly... Steve nipped at her again, drawing a soft cry from her. In response, he shuddered against her throat, less in control of himself than when he had drank her blood before. He took from her, tongue darting out to taste her, lips hungrily clamping to her skin. Natasha dug her fingers more tightly into his back and swallowed. 

“Steve,” she said hesitantly. 

He always seemed to lose himself a little, but this time he seemed like he… enjoyed it. It made her numb. He gave her one last lick before pulling back to wipe his mouth. Natasha stepped back and pressed her fingers to the painful sore on her neck. His fingers deftly wiped any traces of blood from his chin and he licked them, eyes bright with desire. What was she now? What was this? Was this part of the routine, too? What was she becoming… 

Steve collected himself a little, returning back to himself slowly. He seemed regretful, full of remorse. But he would need it again soon. Natasha wasn’t sure when, but it was inevitable. Just as she needed him to help her through this, he would need her to satiate his maddening thirst. She had been prepared to do it before, but the promise of returning to Shield seemed to offset that. What was she doing now? She was aimless, directionless. If all the people she cared about, everyone she had felt connected to could see her now, they would be appalled.

Steve seemed to savour the taste of her for a moment, lingering in that strange detachment for a little longer before he came back to himself and his face became laced with concern. 

“I’m so sorry, Natasha,” he said quietly. He looked at her as if he wanted to take in her expression of grief. To commit it to memory so that he would never do this to her again. It was a fool's errand and they both knew it. “I wish… I wish I could be better.” 

Natasha clutched him childishly, her fingers holding her neck. She knew her eyes were wide, that her heart beat quickly in her chest. She knew she looked manic. 

She knew this was a dangerous cycle. A vicious repetition of their relationship before all of this. She was doomed to lose him, it seemed. But she didn’t care. Right now, he was the only thing that made sense in her life. She wouldn't lose him. She refused to lose him. Even if that meant becoming something unrecognizable. She would give anything to stop this hurt that grew in her like a cancer. If this was all temporary, then she was going to make the most of it. He made her feel like she could face this grief, as steady and constant as the North Star. She didn’t want to imagine what she would be without him. 

Steve was quiet, ruminating. He looked at her with such a mix of conflicting emotion that she didn’t know what to make of it. Most of all he seemed so angry at himself, so appalled at what he had done. Natasha curled against him, ignoring the pang of fear that told her not to. His expression was bitter for a moment before he pushed aside whatever he was feeling and slipped on a neutral little smile instead. He seemed to have decided something.

“What do you need, Natasha?” he said, his voice strangely calm. 

“Take me back inside,” she whispered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow a post on Valentine's Day! It was slow at work this week so I got this completed faster than I anticipated! I'm aiming for next Friday with the next chapters. The final segments are coming along, so I'm hoping (fingers crossed) that I can post twice a week (probably not next week though). 
> 
> Enjoy!


	20. Hand to Hand, Mine to Yours, Yours to Mine.

The night after Steve drank from her, Natasha had a strange dream. She dreamed that she teetered on the edge of a dark, black hole. It was darker than anything she had ever seen… it seemed to draw light toward its centre, sucking it into the void. She could hear her friends calling faintly for her, her family asking where she was. Her mother laughed. Her father was singing. They were happy down there. Her toes dipped over the edge of the precipice. Clint was asking a would you rather question, Sam was giving his answer. Natasha wanted to answer too, but there was no way they’d hear her all the way up here. The darkness swallowed her vision and she swayed, feeling dizzy. Warm air gently blew from the pit, coating her skin like a balm. It smelled like the woods outside of Shield, it smelled like her babushka’s blini. She could taste the sweet burst of cut up fruit she topped on the little pancakes. “С Днем Рождения Наталия” her babushka said.  _ Happy birthday Natalia.  _

Tears pricked her eyes, she had the sensation of the ground rushing up to meet her. She wriggled her toes over the edge. The darkness welcomed her, invited her warmly… From behind her, she could feel cold hands snake around her waist. She flinched at the sensation— it cut through the warmth clinging to her skin like a blade. She could feel Steve’s lips on her neck. It stung. He smelled like ash. “Natasha,” his voice was a cool rush on her skin. “Natasha  _ please _ .” He sounded scared. She turned to face him, to find out what was wrong, but when she looked behind her, there was nothing there. Natasha felt panic rise in her. From the pit below, the laughter echoed, becoming loud and distorted. The edge of the hole widened and the ground disappeared from under her. Natasha fell.

She awoke with a start, eyes flying open. As she lay in bed, she still had that sensation of falling. Her heart raced and she rolled over to face the wall. Steve hadn’t slept with her that night. She was quietly grateful for that. Her neck stung where he had bitten her and she stared blankly at the empty hearth, studying the extinguished coals with a strange out-of-body feeling. He had told her he would be gone this morning again. He seemed to want space away from her after yesterday. She traced the cut on her neck idly, flinching when it sent a little wave of pain through her. She had been so stupid to do that. What was she thinking? Steve needed blood, that was true, but she didn’t have to give it to him like  _ that _ . What if he had lost control again? What would that do to her? She frowned a little, eyes narrowing in anger. What would that do to him? 

Natasha sighed and sat up in bed. She didn’t think. That was the problem. It had worked out alright in the end, but Steve had become much more distant. Their closeness had been a direct result of her grief, of her need for contact, for reassurance that not all was lost. But drinking her blood was a reminder to them both that he teetered on the edge of control. As much as Natasha wanted him to comfort her, it was hard for him to be that close all the time. She put so much on him. Natasha ran a hand through her hair. It was tangled and matted in places. She hadn’t brushed it or taken care of it really since she’d unbraided it that day she ran out into the rain. The memory was foggy— it seemed like it had happened ages ago. 

Natasha inhaled deeply, drawing the stale air of the cabin into her lungs before she got out of bed and went to the supply trunk to search its contents. She found a small personal grooming kit and withdrew a hairbrush. It was old, the handle was broken, and its bristles were tangled with long brown hair. Natasha considered the brush for a moment, feeling its ridged surfaces thoughtfully before she began to work it through her hair. The cut on her neck smarted when she moved. 

If nothing else, that incident had brought a little clarity back to her. She needed to reassess. No more lying around feeling sorry for herself. It had been almost two weeks now. Civilian Natasha could do whatever she liked, she could feel sad and broken and lost for however long she wanted. She could heal at her leisure, she could take all the time she needed to move on from this terrible break. But Natasha wasn’t a civilian. She was a hunter. Even if that didn’t mean much anymore, it at least meant that she had to keep going. 

She finished working the knots from her hair with a pained hiss and pulled her wavy tresses into a thick ponytail. Maybe she wasn’t quite ready to fight yet— her hands were still barely functional, her ribs still ached dully when she breathed deeply, but at least the cuts and bruises from the night she discovered Shield destroyed were starting to heal. She could try to move on from this, she could push herself through this if she had to. Natasha turned her attention to the door and drew a deep, steadying breath. She could start with going outside. 

She stood and pushed the latch on the door and stepped out into the sun, braving the peaceful little space around the cabin like a skittish animal. She took her knife with her this time. Partially out of habit, and partially because it made her feel safer. She knew that the horde couldn’t touch her in the day, but she didn’t feel safe anymore. It was bright out and she shielded the sun from her face with her hand as she surveyed the clearing. It was peaceful here. Nothing could hurt her here… she eyed the woods and swallowed hard. Steve had been travelling a little further out each day— but he always returned in the late afternoon. Natasha would be lying if she said she wasn’t grateful for the time alone. As much as she had needed to lean on him, she wanted to try standing on her own now. Natasha stepped into the clearing, focusing on the feeling of the sun warming her shoulders and cheeks. 

There was a barren patch of earth behind the cabin; perhaps it was used as firewood storage at one point, but nothing grew there now. It gave her a sense of urgency to see it— sad, yellowed grass and weeds sticking up in clumps from the earth. Maybe she could build something there. Natasha dropped to her knees and began to pull away at the weeds and patchy grass. Her hands hurt still, but she was tired of this weakness that dragged her down. She didn’t want to fall like in her dream. She had been falling for days now, it seemed. She was weightless, adrift. But she didn’t want to hit the ground, she didn’t want to break on impact. She wanted to pull herself out of this. 

As she worked, Natasha’s hands became more and more painful, but she didn’t care. She had found a task at last. Taking a break, Natasha went inside to have a drink and dig through the supply caches again. She found a little trench shovel in the supply cache stored under the kitchenette counter, and used it to help her strip the earth and churn the dirt as she had seen her mother and father do long ago. As she worked, she gave herself to the sensation of having something to do. She found a kind of quiet rhythm in her breath, the birdsong, the soft hush of the wind in the trees, and the scrape of her shovel in the dirt. The soil was soft and springy. It would do nicely. 

She worked quietly, sweat beading on her hairline and down her back as the morning, then afternoon sun beat down on her. It was nice, she allowed herself. It was calm. Natasha never wanted to give in to what she was feeling, it was the way that so many hunters had lived. She always reasoned that there would be time to untangle her emotions, her grief and pain, after this was done. Whatever after meant. She had always hoped it would mean after the cure was discovered. After all, wasn’t that what all of this was for? Hope? Deep down she knew it meant after she was dead. But neither option had come to pass. It was after. They had lost. 

Natasha paused at the thought, huffing as she leaned against her shovel. It felt raw, selfish to consider, but she was free. She had lived her life in the service of others, as their tool, their weapon, their shield. But now she could finally admit what  _ she _ wanted. Wiping the sweat from her brow, Natasha stood and watched the clouds pass overhead, her heart beating evenly in her chest. 

She wanted to find out who she was— what she was made of. She wanted to feel something other than the terrible nothingness that consumed her. Those things would take a long time to find. For right now, she just wanted to dig in the earth, to feel the cool, damp soil between her fingers, to kneel, steady on the grass and feel connected to the ground. She wanted to heal. 

Natasha’s rhythm was interrupted when the birdsong fell silent. She couldn’t help but reach for her knife and whirl to inspect the treeline with feverish, fearful eyes. If anything, it was Steve, or an animal in the underbrush. But the woods loomed and she felt as though a thousand eyes watched her. The wind picked up and a cloud blocked the sun, sending the little clearing into shadow. Immediately Natasha felt cold. Her sweat clung to her skin and chilled her. The trees swayed, their leaves rustling in a hushed whisper. Natasha blinked hard. It was her imagination, she knew, but she smelled smoke. She smelled ash and the stench of human remains. The woods watched her. Like in her dream, she could feel  _ them _ , just beyond the treeline. Judging. Laughing. Screaming. 

She brought a hand up to cover her mouth, to try and fight the panic that swelled in her, that threatened to choke and make her retch. It tasted like bile. Shakily she dropped her shovel and returned to the safety of the cabin, latching the door shut behind her. She didn’t remember drawing her knife, but she gripped it tightly in her clammy hands. Tears stung her eyes as she struggled to control her breathing. She inhaled sharply, trying to suppress the rising panic crawling its way through her chest to constrict her airways and make her heart race. Why was she so afraid? Why couldn’t she be braver? 

Natasha placed her blade on the table, exhaling shakily as a tear slipped past the dam of her eyelashes to spill down her cheek. She wanted to fight. She wanted to do so many things all at once that it threatened to shatter her into a million little pieces. But she wasn’t diamond under pressure. She was glass. Every day was proving what she was really made of, and she hated how ugly, how weak she had turned out to be. Hydra was still out there, crushing and dominating and brutalizing, and she was hiding in the daylight because she was afraid. 

She stabbed her knife into the counter top with a frustrated cry. Could this really be her life? Cowering in charming domesticity with Steve? It seemed unthinkable. There were still things that ate at her, still things she wanted to fight for. But the fire in her had been smothered by the brutal ache of grief. She was just one person now. Shield was dust and the colony would be obliterated by now as well. What was she meant to do? The hope for the cure was gone, which meant she had failed Clint, too. 

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there for, but she didn’t hear Steve when he came up behind her until he softly said her name. Natasha whirled, face twisted in alarm, knife in hand. She nearly sliced Steve’s throat but he blocked her hand, knocking the blade from her grasp. It took a moment to register it was him, to realize what she had done. Frazzled, Natasha sagged into the counter behind her. 

“I’m sorry,” she breathed, “Steve, I—” 

Wordlessly he bent and picked up the dropped knife, inspecting it thoughtfully. Natasha just swallowed thickly and smoothed her hair back, gathering it in her tight fists. What was wrong with her? Why was she like this? 

Steve set the knife down on the counter with a little half smile. He had a Shield-issue bag and Natasha could see that he had filled it with some provisions. He must’ve searched the ruins today… “I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said. 

From within her, Natasha felt another crack split her open. She was breaking apart. She couldn’t hold it together. Angrily, she released her grip on her hair to swipe away the tears welling in her eyes, wishing she wasn’t so paralyzed. Steve tilted his head a little, eyes filled with concern. How could he stand her? She couldn’t stand her. Hesitantly, he set down his bag, his expression carefully neutral. He seemed to want to give her his full attention and Natasha flushed a little at the thought. Steve was so patient with her. 

“What’s wrong?” he murmured, appraising her calmly. 

Natasha swallowed thickly and reached to finger her blade on the counter. She wanted to tell him how angry she was with herself. How resentful and disgusted she was with her inability to act. But seeing him watch her with such tender concern made her rethink that. She knew he wouldn’t want her to feel that way about herself. “I don’t know anymore,” she replied dully, “I think I’m afraid.” 

Steve paused. He looked like he wanted to touch her, but he seemed to hold himself back and Natasha frowned a little. “Of?” he asked quietly. 

Natasha sighed and watched the floor in silence. She had never had to put it into words before. She had resented and hated the fear so much that she never wanted to consider why she felt it. She only wanted it to go away. So often she didn’t want to speak about her feelings, or what was bothering her. It was hard for her to do and even more so when she was scared of fumbling it somehow, of saying something she didn’t mean. But now she spoke freely. Steve wouldn’t judge her for this. She knew he wouldn’t. 

“I’m afraid that I don’t know what to do without Shield,” she began, her fingers tracing the edge of the blade as she studied its familiar surface, “I’m… afraid that I needed this fight, that I can’t live without it.” She paused, her brows furrowing with realization. “I don’t know who I am without it. I don’t know what I like, what I want to do. Without Shield, without violence and… and war and fighting…. I’m nothing. I’m nobody.” She withdrew her fingers from her blade, letting words spill from her as she wrung her hands in an anxious fidget. 

“You’re not, Natasha,” Steve started to say, “please, you’re so much more that—” 

“What was any of that for?” she interrupted, not really hearing him, “it was my identity for so long. It’s all I had. I gave up everything else for this fight. There was no future that I imagined for myself. I wasn’t ever going to have a family, or settle down. I was willing to die for this fight. Maybe I… wanted to die for it.”

Steve’s expression darkened at her words, but he stayed silent as he listened. “But it’s done. It’s all gone now and I wasn’t there for it…” Natasha’s hands curled into tight fists and she felt the heat of rage burn in her insides and her voice faltered. “I— I don’t think I’m ready to stop yet, I have nothing else left.”

It felt like she hadn’t quite gotten to the root of what was troubling her. She danced around it, unable to define it like a word on the tip of her tongue. Her desire to fight wasn’t the thing that terrified her. She didn’t know what terrified her. Steve looked hurt. He looked like he wished he could convince her there was more than this. But he was wrong. 

“What is there left to fight for, Natasha?” His question shouldn’t hurt as much as it did, she had asked herself that many times. 

“Hydra dominating mankind. There will be resistance. Even though Shield has lost, there will be avengers, there will be strife until we break. Am I really okay with being here, being with you if I can help in some way?” 

Steve was deadly quiet and she snapped her gaze to him with a little frown of confusion. She hadn’t expected him to answer her, but she thought he might say something. Offer his side of things… Instead he was silent. His look was grim. 

Natasha continued, “And— and Clint. I can’t leave him like that. I only did it because…” she licked her lips. “I thought I could cure him. I thought I could save him if I made it back to Shield.” 

Steve turned his gaze to the floor. He seemed deeply troubled by her words. “I wish you could stop, I wish you wouldn’t do this,” he said softly.

Natasha leaned in a little more so he would look at her. “I can’t stay here and keep my head down Steve, you know I can’t. I don’t want to be that person. I hate that person.” 

Steve flinched as though he had personally attacked him. Maybe he saw this differently than she did. Maybe he was tired of fighting. His expression was flinty— frustrated. “I don’t want to watch you die, Natasha.” His words fell on her like a terrible weight and she sagged a little. “You came close so many times. You nearly killed yourself. You say you’re nothing without this, but you’re wrong. You’re so wrong about yourself. I wish you could see that…” 

They were quiet for a little while, standing in the small space of the cabin in frustrated silence. She wondered what he saw in her that had him so convinced she was something more than she was. Her gaze settled on the knots in the wooden floorboards by her feet.

“I don’t know what else to do. It feels wrong to do nothing,” she said quietly. 

She couldn’t bring herself to look at Steve’s expression. He was quiet again, radiating agitated concern. There was a pause before he stepped closer and took her hand, expression laced with sadness. “What’s stopping you, then?” he said.

She frowned, her legs trembling. “I don’t know,” she said miserably, “it’s like I can’t move. It’s like I’m paralyzed by this—” she grasped her shirt, twisting it into tight knots in her fist. “This… thing, inside me. I hate it. I can’t stand it. I can barely leave the cabin some days. I can barely make myself do anything. Everyone else died, everyone else fought. Everyone is gone except me.” 

There it was again. That implication that had tormented her since she was young. Why did she get to live? Steve exhaled, his brows furrowed in worry. “It’ll take time, Natasha,” he said. But his words did nothing to comfort her. He couldn’t fathom what she had lost, that much was clear. It wasn’t just her home, her friends, her life. She had lost her sense of self. The world moved on without her in it. This place felt like limbo, like an in between. To fight was to live— that had been her purpose. If she wasn’t fighting, then what was she?

If she had a mission, maybe she could learn to live with this. Maybe she could lessen the guilt, the heartache. It was how she made it through her childhood, her teen years… She knew Steve wanted her to stop all of this. To live finally and put aside this fight, but it didn’t feel right. “I want to go back for Clint,” she said quietly. 

Steve’s expression was unreadable. He was silent for a long time. “You want me with you.” It wasn’t a question anymore. She didn’t think she could do it without him. 

“It was a mistake, leaving him before. I can’t cure him— that’s off the table now, so I have to do what I promised.” 

Steve was tense. The more she spoke, the more he seemed to close himself off from her. 

“I think I can let it go after that. I just want to give him that. He was my friend, Steve.” 

“When are you leaving?” he asked. 

Natasha might scream if she had to spend more time here. If she was left to wallow and wade in her guilt and sadness. 

“Tomorrow,” she said, making up her mind. 

* * *

Steve had been quiet for the remainder of the evening. He was unusually distant and Natasha wasn’t sure if he would join her on this mission or not. She’d be heartbroken to be alone again, but this was closure for her. She needed this, she told herself. 

She slept alone again. Not that she slept much that night anyway. She had been planning her route, falling back into her hunter mindset. When dawn broke, she slipped out of bed and began to get dressed, pulling on her jacket and pants, still smudged by the ashes of her home. Steve watched her silently, his face a mask as she became more like the hunter she had been before. It felt good, she admitted. It felt good to return to this. She had been shattered, but this felt like a return to something familiar. She braided her hair in silence, her knife in its holster and her axe in its place on her hip. She glanced at him through her lashes, her heart fluttering in her chest with pre-mission jitters. 

“Are you coming?” she asked gently. 

Steve didn’t look at her. He just nodded quietly. When Natasha was packed and ready, she turned and left the cabin and Steve followed behind for a moment before he fell into step at her side. He would need to show her the way back, Natasha couldn’t remember where they had come from. She had been too consumed by her grief that day. She slowed a little and Steve went on ahead, guiding her into the woods. 

Natasha’s heart leapt into her throat as she approached the treeline. It was quiet in there, sound seeming to dissipate as it became trapped in the tangle of trees. She swallowed hard, fighting the fear that prickled the nape of her neck. She made herself follow Steve’s retreating back. Each step was a step toward healing, she told herself. She was getting her life back. Steve didn’t look behind him to see if she followed. This was her mission. Of course she would follow. 

But from behind her, Natasha could feel the safety of the cabin disappear. She breathed evenly, watching sunlight dance patterns on Steve’s back, on his sandy hair, on his pale skin… She had to be like him. She couldn’t turn back. She had to trust herself enough not to look back. There was nothing for her back there… She had to leave that behind. If the fight was all she had, she had to look ahead. But in a moment of weakness, she glanced over her shoulder. Behind her, the trees had closed in around her, smothering and imposing. The cabin was no longer in sight, she was surrounded by the creeping darkness of the woods. It seemed to promise nothing but death, suffering, annihilation. The further she went from the cabin, the more it seemed inevitable. 

She thought of the ruin of Shield, she thought of the stranger and Clint. Outside the ring of trees was where the fight was. It was where she had to go. But she froze, watching the woods consume her in terror. She couldn’t take another step. Natasha trembled, eyes wide, her skin tingling and prickling as though a thousand ants crawled beneath its surface. Tears filled her eyes.  _ Move,  _ she willed herself,  _ move move move, you coward!  _ It felt like she floated above herself and was an observer when she turned to see that Steve had stopped and turned to look at her. He asked her something, he looked worried— his lips moved, but she only heard the wind stirring the leaves in a hushed whisper. They were laughing at her. Whispering about her. The whispers grew louder, buzzing incoherently. They sounded like screams. She brought her hands up to cover her ears and shut her eyes tightly. 

She hadn’t done this since she was a child. When she was alone, she used to think she could hear the horde screaming, she used to hear the sounds of violence and chaos and destruction. Clint used to sit with her when she had episodes like this. They became less frequent as she grew up, as she moved on and firmly moved her experiences behind her. She had learned to live with the violence, the bloodshed, the destruction… It didn’t bother her anymore. But now she couldn’t stand this silence. It was paralyzing.

Natasha shook, her hands clamped tightly over her ears. The rush of the wind through the trees swelled and she whimpered. The last episode she had like this was when she was a teenager and she saw one of her hunter partners die, torn apart by the horde. It had reminded her of her mother. Clint taught her how to breathe through it. But she couldn’t remember his words. Panic rose in her. She couldn’t remember his voice. It sounded wrong in her head. Distorted, somehow. 

The sensation of Steve’s cold hands on her skin made her eyes flutter open. His expression was so tense, so heartbroken that she endeavored to calm herself a little. She fought back a sob and just worked on breathing. If she could just breathe… 

“It’s alright, Natasha,” he said soothingly. He sounded distant. 

She trembled, frozen in place as if her feet had taken root into the tangle of the forest floor. Why couldn’t she be stronger? She leaned into him as he stood there watching her and buried her forehead against his chest. 

“It’s okay” he said gently, “we can try again another time.” He hesitantly rubbed slow circles on her back, his claws tickling her skin. Natasha shook, tears streaking down her cheeks, her hands still covering her ears. She was so pathetic. So terribly weak. They stood there, Steve gently breathing with her until she felt like she could move again. Her hands slowly came away from her ears and she clutched at his sides instead. They stayed like that a moment longer, until she was able to look at him again. He gave her a soft, broken little smile and she felt her heart break. She wasn’t strong enough. Carefully Steve led her back toward the cabin, his face laced with concern. 

As the cabin came into view, Natasha flushed with anger. She pursed her lips and swallowed hard, so angry with herself for failing yet again. She still felt surrounded, claustrophobic in the bright light of day as they reentered the clearing. Steve hovered, seemingly unsure of what else to say to her. He was hesitant to touch her again, but she was glad of it. She’d rather be alone. Natasha stormed back into the cabin and stripped off her jacket again, angrily throwing it to the floor. The Shield patch looked up at her accusingly. She didn’t deserve to wear it. 

With a frustrated cry, she sank onto the bed and buried her face into her hands. Steve cast a long shadow on the floor from where he stood in the doorway. “It’s going to take time, Natasha.” he said quietly. 

He seemed to be saying that a lot these days. She just nodded, pulling her hands away from her face and wringing them in terrible anger. Steve sighed a little, putting away his bag in the little space of the cabin. He seemed to be at a loss on how to help her and he stood in the little kitchenette in silence. They sat like that for a long time. Natasha never relaxed… 

“Do you want to be alone?” he finally said. 

She could feel his eyes on her back and Natasha nodded again, her gaze fixed again on the empty hearth. It felt like she was going in circles. She was repeating the same mistakes, proving herself to be weak and unworthy with each passing day. She squeezed her hands tightly, the damaged skin shooting pain up her wrists. Steve’s footsteps marked his approach and he was soon standing by her side, looming over her as he gently skimmed her forearms. Her hands uncurled and Steve traced the healing skin lightly. 

“Don’t do this to yourself,” he breathed, “be kind to yourself, Natasha.” 

A slow little breath escaped from her and she stared down at his hand in hers. Steve seemed so devastated that she wanted to hurt herself, punish herself like this. She could hear the heartbreak in his voice… He sounded like he had in her dream and she turned to look at him, but he slipped away. 

“I’ll be back before dark.” he promised, and she was left to once again watch his retreating back as he stepped out into the sun. 

* * *

Natasha spent the rest of the day busying herself with sorting through all of the supplies in the cabin. She didn’t want to sit still, and punishing herself like she had been doing seemed to have a profound effect on Steve. But her episode felt like a massive setback. How was she meant to move forward if she could barely take the first steps? The sun set, and the creeping darkness outside seemed to leak into the cabin to cast long, strange shadows. 

Steve had returned before dark as promised and he busied himself with starting the fire. He never said where he went and Natasha didn’t ask. They worked in sullen silence until night fell and Natasha began to tremble once more. Her heart pounded in her ears and she folded the clothes and returned them to the supply trunk. Her anger had faded to bitter disappointment in herself. There was no denying how broken she was by this anymore. She was gripped by fear. Today had been a massive failure, a confirmation that she had only the illusion of strength. A thin veneer of what she thought made her strong. She had leaned on her support system at Shield, she had suppressed and repressed and driven forward toward her own destruction for her entire life. What did she have left now? It was terrifying to think that she had nothing. Every muscle in her was tensed. She was nearly vibrating with energy, unable to relax. Her eyes fluttered shut as she tried to struggle through this alone, but she could hear the rush of whispers from the darkness outside. She had leaned on Steve too much already. She was a burden. 

“Natasha,” Steve’s voice cut through the haze of her strange detachment. He spoke quietly, voice low and warm. “Are you alright?”

Obviously she wasn’t, but she didn’t know what she was. She was so tense, watching night fall around her in terror as she gripped the moth-eaten Shield uniforms tightly. She didn’t know how to answer, so she stayed kneeling by the supply caches, frozen. She could feel Steve come up behind her. His fingers tentatively skimmed the nape of her neck, following the curve of her muscles as he swept into her shoulders and she flinched. He pressed her there, easing some of the tension from her body with a slow massage. Natasha leaned forward a little, exhaling slowly. Steve kneaded the stress from her muscles until she began to relax. She sighed, becoming a little withdrawn. Steve paused, his hands still on her shoulders for a moment before he pulled away. Slowly she turned to look at him and he held out his hand to help her up. His expression was gentle as he watched her. 

“I want to show you something.” 

Natasha unfurled, watching him closely. Her lips parted in confusion and slipped from her and gestured for her to follow. “If you want,” he said. 

Natasha wanted to put her fear behind her. She trusted Steve. He took her outside into the warm summer night. He couldn’t help her nervous response. Nighttime was the source of so many years of fear and uncertainty. She never felt safe exposed in the dark and it had become so much worse after everything she had been through. She stood in the doorway of the cabin, looking out into the darkness of the night and shivered. But Steve took her hand and gave her a reassuring smile. She gazed up at him, taking in his handsome face, her hands clammy in his. She could do this. 

He didn’t take her far, just into the clearing behind the little cottage. She squeezed his hand nervously and he stopped. They were still close enough to safety for her to feel like she could escape if she had to, but she couldn’t help the little tremble through her legs, the fearful scan of their surroundings as she searched the darkness. 

“It’s okay,” Steve said quietly as he stepped a little closer, “There’s no horde here, Natasha. There’s nobody here.” 

Her gaze darted to him anxiously. Awash with the soft, faded light of the cottage, Steve seemed to take on an ethereal glow. His eyes reflected the warm light softly as he watched her, lips curved in a gentle smile. He seemed to her like something from a fairy tale. Natasha felt herself relax ever so slightly when Steve looked at her like that, but being open in the clearing at night still filled her with terrible anxiety. 

“What did you want to show me?” she asked, an edge to her voice. 

Steve considered her for a moment, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. She felt a swell of trust as he took her in his arms and held her trembling body. Natasha welcomed the touch. She didn’t realize how much she had been craving it and she curled into him, pressing her forehead into the hollow of his throat. 

“We can go back inside if it’s too much,” he said. 

But Natasha shivered and inhaled the scent of him, the night air, the sweetness of the grass beneath their feet. She paused and listened hard, but there was only the quiet murmur of crickets and the steady beating of Steve’s heart. It felt nice, she allowed herself to realize. It was nice. She took a deep breath and met Steve’s patient gaze. “It’s okay,” she said, “I’m okay.” 

Steve gave her a little smile and sat, guiding her down with him. It felt so wrong. She barely managed standing in the open clearing, but now she was exposed like this. She was making herself easy prey. Steve felt her unease and tension and waited for her to feel ready, or to call the whole thing off— he was doing this for her. This was all for her. Natasha's heart swelled at the notion. She could count on one hand the gifts she had been given. No one had much to give anymore, but this felt personal, it felt like healing. She wanted so badly to accept this. Taking a second to scan her surroundings again, Natasha mentally created her escape route. The cabin was close. She could sprint if she needed to. She exhaled shakily and sank down next to him and met his gaze. Steve gave her a half smile and then laid back on the grass. Natasha just watched him blankly as he stared up at the sky, his eyes shining brightly. Lying down might be a stretch. She would really be in danger then. 

“Look,” he said gently, breaking through her anxious spiral and pointing to the stars overhead. 

Natasha had to look up then, she had to trust him. She turned her face to the inky darkness above. There were so many stars tonight, glittering above like precious gems. They washed the sky in a breathtaking swirl. Natasha couldn’t help a soft ‘ _ oh _ ’ at the sight. Steve chuckled at her reaction and nestled more comfortably in the grass beside her, his hands coming to rest on his stomach. It was dizzying to look up, to let herself be consumed by the sky like this. The whole of her vision was filled with it— the dark expanse above unfurled like a canvas and the sky seemed alive with hundreds of shooting stars. 

Mesmerized, Natasha sat and watched until her neck became fatigued. She had seen shooting stars before of course, but not since she was a little girl and never this many. She had never cared to look for them since— night time was a hazard, a life or death situation. Stars weren’t something that hunters cared much about unless it was for navigation. But now, sitting out here with Steve in the balmy night, it felt like the sky danced just for them. She looked back down at Steve again, a little awed. He smiled at her—kindly and so full of warmth— that she felt that strange tenderness return in the pit of her stomach, rising through her to take hold of her heart. It felt silly and a bit girlish— but when he looked at her like that, she thought his silver eyes shone like stars too. She never thought she’d feel that way about the infected. To think their eyes were beautiful like Steve’s were. 

Natasha felt her cheeks flush a little and returned her gaze overhead. The unease began fade from her and she eventually lay back next to Steve, watching the sky with him. He seemed so naturally at ease in the dark. So comfortable. She couldn’t help but feel the same as she watched the stars streak across the night. They lay in captivated, comfortable silence side by side for a while, content to watch the meteor-shower in each other’s company. There was nothing to say, really. Nothing that would really capture how strangely alive she felt.

A large meteor burned across the night— brilliant white and blue and leaving a tail of untouchable fire in its wake. Natasha gasped a little and patted Steve’s chest excitedly, never tearing her attention from the sky for fear she would miss something. “Did you see that?” She asked breathlessly. Steve just laughed, low and velvety. The vibration was pleasant under her hand. 

She could feel him turn to look at her and he caught an errant strand of hair and tucked it back behind her ear. Briefly, his thumb swept across her cheek and she turned to look at him questioningly. He had a hint of a smile on his face, his eyes crinkled with humour. A secret joke that he kept to himself. 

“What?” She asked, smoothing her hair back, wondering what he was thinking when he looked at her. 

Steve’s smile broadened and he turned his gaze back to the stars. “Nothing—” he said, much to Natasha’s annoyance. He laughed a little then, knowing that he had irked her and answered her a little more honestly. His eyes shone with wicked humour, like he knew what he would tell her might annoy her further. “I was just thinking there are almost as many stars tonight as there are freckles on your face.” 

Natasha laughed for the first time in a long time. He had a way of drawing that from her, she realized. She poked him in the ribs and he flinched and laughed with her. “Shut up,” she said, wiping at her cheeks. Steve’s smile softened when he looked over at her, lazily turning his head to face her. Natasha’s laughter faded and his gaze felt like a pressure in her chest. It seemed like an eternity that he watched her before he turned his face to the sky again. Natasha allowed herself to relax, to feel at ease under the stars with Steve. She felt like she was free. 

The thought gave her pause and she turned to look at him, taking in his profile in the distant light of the cabin. She traced the shape of his strong nose, his long dark lashes and thoughtful eyes, his full lips and blonde hair. She couldn’t place it, or even begin to understand what this was with him anymore. He had a way of opening her up that she wasn’t used to feeling. She never would’ve dreamed of ever doing anything like this. It felt like an indulgence, a dangerous luxury that she could neither afford nor deserved to have. But now, for the first time in years, she felt like she was deserving of it. She hadn’t realized how shut off she had been, how afraid she had been to live— really live until he showed her what that meant. While Steve wasn’t human, he brought a fragment of normalcy and tenderness and  _ humanity  _ back to her life that she had lost a long time ago. 

It was with terrible sadness that she realized she would never be able to repay him for that. 

Carefully, shyly, she reached out and twined her fingers with his. It was his turn to look at her questioningly now. Lying in the sweet grass next to him, Natasha met his gaze with such gratitude that it gave him pause. His expression was soft— a little surprised, Natasha surmised. Maybe he wasn’t used to being looked at like that. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Thank you, Steve,” she said softly. His lips parted like he might say something, but he just nodded, a faint smile gracing his lips and they both returned to watching the wondrous ballet of falling stars. 

Under the blanket of night with her hand in his, Natasha felt herself rise. Deep within her, those empty holes began to fill. For this moment, her grief subsided, her fear subsided and the spaces in between were filled with a warmth that she couldn’t even begin to define. Tonight it was as though Steve had given her the stars. But it was more than that. Somehow, it was  _ more _ than that. Natasha held him tighter, never wanting to let go. She was safe, she realized. She was home. 

* * *

The following morning Natasha woke up next to Steve. They were back in the cabin— he carried her in after their night under the stars and laid her down on the bed. She didn’t need him to, but she wanted him to stay. She took his hand and tugged him sleepily. She didn’t remember him getting into bed with her, but here he was. It was the best sleep Natasha had had in weeks. She turned in bed and peered at Steve. His eyes were closed like he was sleeping and his head was turned to face her. But this moment was fleeting, when Steve felt her move, his eyes fluttered open and he smiled softly when he saw her. 

“Hi,” he said. 

Maybe it was early yet, but she couldn’t handle that look. A deep flush of heat raced into Natasha’s cheeks and she curled inward a little. He made her feel so… she lacked the words to describe the feeling. She felt soft, open somehow. It was terrifying to feel this way. She was so out of her depth, so inexperienced with dealing with all of these things— total loss, the realization that she couldn’t continue to repress her grief— and now this tenderness with Steve. It had been growing in her for a long time, but now she couldn’t ignore it anymore. Not when he smiled at her like that. Not when he was patient and warm and showed her the stars and the little things that she had given up on years ago. He was giving her little pieces of herself back, filling in the holes in her soul with his steadfast devotion. But she was scared of it. Scared to feel this way. 

Natasha didn’t know what to do as she lay there next to him, feeling much too close. She was possessed with an urge to touch him, to say something, to smile— anything. But she was paralyzed now by a different kind of uncertainty. What was he to her? 

Steve smiled softly and his eyes fluttered shut again. He breathed deeply, his hand loosely curled by his cheek. Natasha was struck by how beautiful he was. She had seen it before, felt it before, but there was nothing pulling her away from that now. No promise of a mission or returning to Shield or keeping her head and heart focused on the fight. There was just Steve, lying beside her, his lips soft and smiling, his eyelashes dark and impossibly long and soft. She wanted to touch them. 

“Hi,” she said in return. 

Steve smirked, his eyes still closed. Outside the birds sang, their music echoing through the little space of the clearing. Natasha couldn’t explain what made her heart race like this, so she rolled over and sat up in bed instead. She stretched deeply, arching her tired muscles as she reached for the sky above her. Her joints popped and clicked and she grunted, giving her head and shoulders a little shake. It was hard on her body to feel constantly stressed as she had been for the past few days. She exhaled and relaxed, inspected the scabbed and peeling skin of her angry red palms.  _ It’ll take a while, Natasha _ , she told herself,  _ It’ll take time _ . She had to believe that she wouldn’t always be like this. She wouldn’t always feel like this. Last night seemed to confirm that. She could heal from this, too. 

From behind her, Steve sat up, shifting the bed and making her look at him. Natasha was filled with such a terrible shame as she studied his back. He had given her so much. More than she could ever repay, and he didn’t even seem to know what he had done for her. He gave and gave and asked for nothing in return and it made her feel ashamed. Steve ruffled his hair a little and stood. 

“What do you want for food?” he asked idly as he made his way to the kitchenette to search through their little provisions. He frowned a little— they must be running low. 

“I guess I’ll be needing to make a supply run today,” he said as he took out the assortment of food tins he had recovered from Shield the past few weeks. There were about ten little dented and singed tins left in total. Natasha just nodded. It would give her a chance to think. She needed to sort through this tangled mess that snared her heart. Steve shot her a little glance as if to test her reaction, to see that she was doing better than yesterday. She gave him a wan little smile. 

“I have something I need to do around here,” she said, “I’m okay now, Steve… or I will be.”

His relief was palpable and it gave Natasha another little pang of shame. He cared about her so much. She had to repay him somehow. She had to. Steve left shortly after and Natasha was free to feel all of these strange and strangling emotions without his scrutiny. She knew she wanted to do something for him after everything he had done for her. But there didn’t seem to be much she could think of that he wanted or liked. They were both strange half-people, so consumed for so long by things that drove them and controlled them and now they were left to sort out who they were without those things. She knew he liked games and stories and… an idea formed in Natasha’s mind and she dug through the supplies she had just organized again, taking out the old Shield hunter manuals and weathered books she had found there. She set to work ripping out any blank pages, stripping them from their aged spines with a determined focus. 

Hours passed and she worked and occasionally munched on some of the food from the tins. She located some twine and used her knife to punch little holes in the pages. When she became frustrated with her clumsy fingers, she braved the outdoors for a moment, edging closer to the treeline where she worked more in her little dirt patch. She stared up at the deep blue of the afternoon sky and smiled. That was his gift to her. 

Natasha eyed the woods again, the sharp lance of anxiety rising in her again, but she knew she could face it, one day. Instead, a bright pop of colour caught her eye. Little red flowers had bloomed in her clearing, small and delicate. The petals were vibrant and papery with a large black centre. Natasha picked a few. She planned to save the seeds, but she set one aside, liking the look of it. She returned inside soon after, completing her mission with a piece of charcoal from the fireplace. When it was all finished, she looked at the sad little book bound with twine and sighed heavily. Maybe this was a mistake. 

She picked up the little flower and placed it on the cover. It was already late afternoon and Steve would be back soon. Eyeing the book, Natasha was struck by how inadequate is seemed, but it was too late to do anything about it. Steve returned, quietly opening the cabin door and not giving her a chance to second guess her handiwork— or hide it. She whirled to face him in alarm, her heart pounding in her ears. Steve gave her a shy smile, he had a few things in his bag, which he set down on the counter. His eye was immediately drawn to the little red flower resting on top of her pathetic gift. 

“What’s this?” he said, his hand brushing the meticulously bound pages. Natasha was so terribly embarrassed, she felt the flush of humiliation colour her cheeks and she sighed. Steve looked at her questioningly, his brow furrowed slightly in confusion. 

“It’s a sketchbook,” she said quietly, “Since, well… The old one is probably gone now. And… I wasn’t sure what else you liked.” 

Steve turned his gaze to her gift and he silently traced his fingers down the worn pages, his lips parted in surprise. He smoothed his hands over the little book, picking it up with care. He seemed to be trying to formulate a response, but nothing came out. Natasha’s heart beat wildly in her chest as she waited to see if he liked it. 

“You didn’t have to do this for me, Natasha,” he finally said. 

She felt a little pang of anger rise through her. A sharp, hot feeling that she could never do enough to repay him for all that he had done. He had given her back something that was immeasurable, priceless, and it pained her that she couldn’t do the same for him. 

“Yes I did,” she said almost pleadingly. 

His gaze flickered to her as he held the sketchbook in the silence of the little room. Natasha felt the hot flush of shame in her cheeks and her eyes fell to the floor. 

“It’s not much, I know,” she began, “but I wanted to do this for you. I had to… I can’t ever repay you for what you’ve done for me.” 

He frowned a little and took a half step toward her, but she continued, not wanting him to interrupt. She had to get this out. 

“The other night, and— even before that. You’ve carried me for so long. I was so lost Steve. With everything that’s happened, ever since Madame Hydra, you’ve always been there for me. When you showed me the stars I felt…” 

She paused, looking for the right words. Steve was still in front of her, waiting in silence for her to continue and she couldn’t bring herself to look at his face. Not yet. 

“I felt safe. I felt like I could breathe again. But it was more than that. I realized I had forgotten what it felt like to feel that sense of— I don’t know,” she paused and laughed a little, “I don’t know! It’s like I forgot what it meant to live.” 

She finally tore her eyes from the floor to meet his. Steve’s expression was tight, his brows furrowed, his lips pursed as he listened. He seemed pained to hear her say that. 

“I… I can’t ever give you enough,” she admitted sadly, “That feeling… of— of getting my life back. Of reclaiming myself. I can’t ever give you what you’ve given me.” 

Steve placed the sketchbook on the table thoughtfully. He took her hand with a wistful smile, his eyes imploring, loving. He looked at her like he never wanted her to doubt the sincerity of his words. 

“Natasha,” he breathed, “you already have.” 

Her eyes welled with tears and her face flushed with a rush of heat. It felt silly to cry then, so she did her best not to. But his words had moved her in a way that she couldn’t describe. Steve gave her a pained little smile and swept the hair from her face gently. He seemed to love that gesture and it struck her that she loved it too. Goosebumps pebbled her skin when he tucked her hair behind her ear, his hand lingering briefly on her cheek. He seemed so genuinely happy for a moment. But that hesitancy was still there. She could see that shift in his demeanor as he realized what he had done. He stopped himself and moved to pull away. 

“Thank you for this,” he said weakly, “really I—”

Natasha couldn’t bear it— he looked at her with such a mixture of conflicting emotions that she was filled with confusion. Before he could slip his hand from her, she lightly took his wrist with one hand and slid the other over his knuckles to keep him there, hand cradling her cheek. He looked at her in shock.

“Steve,” she said quietly, “Why are you afraid to touch me?”

He paused, face darkening. It was like he never wanted to confront this— he was content to never acknowledge that this thing between them had grown into something else. Natasha leaned into his touch. She wanted him to touch her like this. She didn’t want him to be afraid of it. He looked like he might not answer for a moment. His fingers curled into a loose fist under her hand, like he was trying to escape from her. 

“Sorry,” he said finally, “ I shouldn’t have done that…” he moved to pull away, but Natasha stepped a little closer. 

“I don’t understand,” she said softly, “You want to, don’t you?” 

Steve frowned and couldn’t look at her. “I shouldn’t,” he said. 

Natasha searched him, surveying his tight expression, the grief and anger etched in his silver eyes. She smoothed the skin on his wrist gently, trying to gauge what was troubling him, but he just looked away with a pained expression. 

“I let you down,” he said quietly, “I lost control and I… I have no right to…” He seemed so upset to admit this. “I don’t deserve to.” Natasha watched him quietly, a hint of a frown on her face. 

“I left you because I wanted you safe,” he said, “I thought it would be better if you were back with other humans. I came back because I wanted to see you. I had to know you were safe. But I found you alone instead. I couldn’t even get that right. You needed me and I wasn’t there.”

He was so angry with himself. He had hidden it well all this time, but it had always been there, simmering beneath the surface. It made Natasha’s heart sink. He had devoted himself to her so completely these past few weeks because he was trying to make it up to her. She exhaled softly, her breath ghosting down his wrist.

“I promised myself that I’d only stay until you were through the worst of it. That I would do what it took to help you through this… But— I think you are now and I’m still here.” He paused in frustration. “I’m so selfish.” 

The thought of him leaving made her anxious. It hurt that he still thought that was the best thing for her. Maybe it was, but she never wanted him to. Living here without him would be unimaginable. But she didn’t know how to express it. She didn’t trust herself to speak without breaking down, or saying something she didn’t mean. 

Instead, Natasha pressed her grip on his hand and turned her lips into his palm to kiss him. The contact made Steve’s hand uncurl around her cheek and his fingers dip hesitantly into her hair. 

He seemed stricken, his lips parted and his brows knit into an amazed expression as he watched her. Looking at him now, Natasha realized that he believed so wholly that he didn’t deserve her that he never would’ve thought she would want him in return. But she did. She wanted him to touch her like this, to smile at her, to hear him laugh with her. She wanted him. This revelation should shock her, but she had felt it for so long now. She couldn’t place the moment, or the look, or the touch that might’ve done it, but she was so far gone in her feelings for him, it hardly mattered when it began anymore. 

Natasha kissed the heel of his hand, just above his wrist. She could feel his pulse faintly beneath her lips and he sighed softly at the contact. Steve stroked his thumb across her temple in disbelief. The touch sent goosebumps across her skin like wildfire. Natasha turned to face him, guiding his hand to cradle her neck. 

“Don’t just decide things for me anymore, Steve,” she said.

He pursed his lips and watched her through hooded lids, his long lashes framing his silver eyes. His expression was nearly unreadable and she stepped into him, more sure of this than anything she had felt in a long time. It had taken her so long to get here. To finally understand and give in to what she was feeling. 

“Ask me what I want,” she said, clutching his side tightly. 

Steve watched his fingers as he pushed her hair from her neck. His thumb traced her pulse with an agonizing slowness that made her shiver. 

“What do you want, Natasha?” His voice was low and warm. It was a tone that she adored. She had the sense that he spoke that way only for her. 

“I want you to stay,” she breathed, “I want you to stay with me.” 

He exhaled slowly, expression becoming a little pained again as he watched her. Natasha swallowed, fearing he might say no. It would break her if he didn’t want to stay. She held him a little more tightly, afraid to let him go. But he never answered, he held her tighter, closing the space between them. He looked like he might speak and instinctively, Natasha tilted her head to look at him, her lips parted questioningly, hoping he would answer her. But he never did. 

Steve cupped her face carefully and pressed his lips to hers.

The kiss he pressed on her was gentle, inviting somehow, like he was asking a question. It was sweet, tender. Natasha froze and he pulled away before she could react. His eyes were watching the floor when he spoke. 

“Sorry— I— ”

Her mind finally caught up with her body and Natasha answered. She leaned in kissed him back— slowly, longingly— that rising warmth returning to send rushing heat under her skin like embers. Steve paused in surprise, his words cut short, but this was a fleeting response. He surrendered, both his hands slid to run through her hair, to cradle her head, to give and to take all at once. It felt so surreal, so unlike anything she had ever experienced before. Her eyes fluttered shut as she melted against him and gave herself to this sensation. It was a series of gentle touches of their lips at first— hesitant and uncertain as they navigated this strange new territory. Natasha was definitely several years out of practice and as far as she knew, Steve had only ever kissed Madame Hydra. That thought made her pull him closer, and she hooked her arms around his neck and unfurled against him and kissed him deeply. Steve nearly purred at the contact, like he didn’t know it could be like this,  _ feel _ like this, and his fingers left her neck to drift down her body, tracing cool paths down her ribs. He seemed to count each one, his thumbs dipping deliciously down the ridges of her rib cage and over her belly. She shuddered a little gasp against him, her hot breath mingling with his cold. 

Steve captured her breath with his lips— he was so serious. He kissed her with such devotion, such desire and adoration for her, like he would do anything to please. It made her giddy and Natasha chuckled, her fingers coming up to twine through his hair. With a soft grunt, Steve gripped her hips as his mouth met hers in a sweet, lazy rhythm of slow kisses that made her head spin.  His touch provoked such strange responses in her. She could’ve kissed him like this forever. To have him explore her and learn what buttons to push. Natasha moved in to him, maybe a little too eagerly, and her teeth scraped his lower lip. In response Steve gave a soft, throaty growl and his grip on her tightened briefly, drawing a little squeak from her. Steve abruptly pulled away, breathless. 

Natasha’s eyes drifted open and she was immediately sorry for the loss of contact. But she saw that Steve struggled to regain control of himself and didn’t press it. They drifted apart, needing a moment to regroup. In the tiny space of the cabin, they both just breathed, watching each other as if to gauge the other’s reaction. 

Neither of them seemed to know what to say. It was a door that couldn’t ever be closed now that it had been opened. She felt so strangely full. Her body buzzed where he had touched her. Natasha blinked and brought her fingers to her lips as if to confirm that what had just happened was real. Steve’s gaze drifted to the floor and he fidgeted a little. She imagined that blush on his cheeks as he spoke. 

“I… that was…” 

But Natasha cut him off by reaching out and taking his hand and giving him a sheepish smile. His eyes flitted to hers, his expression bright with tenderness. 

“I take it you’re staying then?” 

Steve returned her smile hesitantly. “Yes,” he said, “I’d like that.”

Natasha smiled brightly and stepped closer to wrap her arms around his waist. He fit against her like a missing piece, like he belonged there in her arms. It finally felt like the pain of all of this loss had subsided a little. She knew she would never stop missing her old life— and she wasn’t going to abandon that fight. Not yet. But this felt like something new. A new beginning. This thing between them, strong and undefinable, would only grow and Natasha no longer wanted to stop it. It had been foolish to think that she ever could. Everything was out in the open now and there would be no going back. Natasha smiled a little at the thought. She didn’t want to go back anymore. 

Steve swept her hair from her face again, indulgently, reverently and she tilted her head a little as she considered him. A slow smile spread across his lips, revealing his pointed teeth. He seemed like he could barely contain his happiness and Natasha’s heart burst with warmth. It spread through her in a tingling rush, infecting her from the inside out until she was certain she wore her blush from the tips of her ears, to the tops of her shoulders. No one had ever looked at her like this. 

“What are you thinking?” he asked, his voice warm with affection. His hands drifted across her skin, following the trail of blush that crept its way across her body. 

Natasha shivered and smoothed his hair from his face, tracing the blackened veins beneath his skin. His eyes fluttered at her touch and he inhaled deeply. She traced down his cheekbones and she swept across his lips with her thumb briefly, savouring the softness of them. They parted a little at her touch, his cool breath ghosting across her palm. It felt dizzying— she had claimed those lips for her own. Standing in his arms, Natasha mapped his features, revelling in his loving expression. 

“I’m thinking you should kiss me again,” she said. 

He laughed at her response, his eyes crinkling with humour. She wished she could keep him like that forever. He laughed so kindly, so vibrantly. Steve leaned in to touch his forehead to hers and she took in the sensation, his hair between her fingers, the rise and fall of him as he breathed. Her name sounded so good on his lips— a deep reverberation through his body into hers, the collection of cool breathy consonants, a sigh of vowels on her skin.  _ Natasha. _

“I’d like that,” he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow holy shit guys they did it! like 130k words in and we finally get a kiss scene lol. This is an extra long chapter, but I wanted them to have at least a small reprieve from all this misery they have been through dammit! Also this is the most romantic thing I've written, I think (too bad I missed Valentine's by like a week!). I find these kissing scenes to be so hard to get right, you have no idea how many drafts of this I have on my computer lol. If you enjoyed it, let me know! 
> 
> Thanks as always for reading, and I'll try to have the next update out by Friday/Saturday/Sunday as usual.


	21. The Man Who Sold the World

That night they had stayed up late, talking and reveling in this strange new reality. It was all so new, so different between them. Everything was out in the open in a way that made Natasha so warm. It was a little bit frightening to think about where this was going, so she didn’t for now. She could put that fear away for a moment. That night by the fire as they talked and leaned into one another, becoming more comfortable with learning each other’s boundaries, it became less thrillingly strange. 

Kissing Steve seemed like the most natural thing in the world. She began to commit the taste of him, the smell and feel of him to memory. She was learning things about him that nobody else knew— that gave her a little thrill, too. It wasn’t just knowing his body— knowing that he had little scars on his ribs, a beauty mark on his throat, little dimples when he smiled, that his lips were soft on hers— it was learning about him, too. Steve shared things about himself that nobody else knew. It was the most intimately connected she had been with anyone. He told her about the way the forest came alive at night, how the darkness of nighttime brought out a wild clarity in him, how other infected smelled, how he loved the way the ground felt beneath his feet. He didn’t have any memories to offer, just experiences. He lived so fully in the moment— though Natasha supposed it was impossible for him to live any other way. He gave her whatever pieces of himself that he could and Natasha smiled as she listened. She was tired but felt so awake, so wired. As they talked and kissed and just held each other, Natasha slowly sank back into the mattress. 

She was afraid to sleep. Afraid to lose this feeling, that this would all collapse around her like a house of cards and she would wake up to discover this was all a dream. She was so happy, so full— it had to be a dream. But she didn’t want to wake up. Steve’s voice was a low and gentle rush of words as he spoke. She tried to stay awake, to listen intently to his words, but she knew what he was doing the moment his fingers delved into her hair, his claws tickling her scalp. It wasn’t long before her eyelids drooped and her body relaxed into the mattress. She wasn’t sure when she fell asleep, but Steve’s voice still echoed through her mind as she drifted off. 

* * *

Waking up next to Steve was a sight she had already gotten used to, but it felt different now. She curled into him a little and he sighed and nuzzled against her. Natasha blinked awake, tracing the features of his face for the thousandth time as he came into focus. He seemed more than happy to just lie there with her, to take in her scent and the warmth of her body. Maybe it made him feel a little more human to do this with her. His eyes were closed again, a small smile gracing his features.

This all felt so strangely new. Everything in her life was suddenly unstable, raw edges and uncertainty. But Steve felt constant. As strange as this all was, so many things were still the same. She wasn’t sure what it would feel like, after their night last night, but Steve was still just Steve. Nothing had changed as far as that. 

As she watched him, any fears she had that this would feel different in the morning dissipated. She had claimed those cheekbones, his sandy blonde hair, his lips. It emboldened her to think that way, and hesitantly, she reached out and touched his eyelashes, claiming those too. They were as soft as she had imagined. Steve smiled warmly, a quiet laugh rumbling through him and she moved to cup his face instead. 

“Morning,” he said, turning his face to kiss her wrist. 

It sent such a thrill through Natasha to have him so close. Her heart fluttered and she grinned. Before she would’ve shied away, she would’ve pushed away this intimacy in her need to stay in her hunter mindset, to deny that she felt anything for him at all. But now she had a new option of dealing with this feeling. She leaned in and softly pressed her lips to his. Steve snickered in amusement as he melted into her, his hand coming up to cradle her back. Through half closed eyes, Natasha observed the way his eyes had fluttered shut again, how he seemed to yearn for this more than anything. She smiled and her fingers slid down his neck and her thumb swept across the beauty mark on his throat. Steve’s breath hitched and he pulled away a little to look at her with such warmth and adoration. It made her blush.

Steve chuckled and planted another brief kiss on her lips before he got up and searched through the food stores in the kitchenette. “What’ll it be today, Natasha?” he said placing tins on the counter top. Natasha rolled over to watch him, propping her head in her hand with an amused smirk. 

Steve withdrew a tin of fruit and two other tins. “There’s this dried fruit stuff and…” his brow furrowed in confusion, “spam?” 

Natasha laughed at that, making Steve look up at her in surprise. “Let’s see that,” she said getting up to inspect the tin. 

He handed it to her and Natasha turned the weathered can over in her hands. Sometimes they found provisions like these— holdovers from ration supplies sent to the Americans during the war before this infection. Sam used to have a game to see who could make the closest guess as to how old the tins were and the loser had to open it and lick it. The label was faded and on the underside the date 1943 was printed. It was as old as Steve was. Natasha laughed hard. 

“I think it’s a little past due,” she said, handing it back to him. 

Steve turned the tin over and read the label with a snort. “I guess that’s a long time ago, huh?” 

Natasha’s heart sank. She kept forgetting that he didn’t remember things. It was easy to forget when he never reminisced and only ever lived in the moment. They never talked about what he remembered. It hardly mattered when a lot of the things they had been through together were so full of pain and horror. But he’d forget the good moments, too. He wouldn’t remember their conversations on the road, hearing her stories, playing games with her. He wouldn’t remember making her laugh that day in the rain, or how he had watched the stars with her, or the way he had kissed her like it was the only thing he had ever wanted… He’d forget he used to be human, that he had been like her at one point.

Would she have to explain this again? That he was probably in his late nineties and had been infected as long as he had been? How many times could she watch him come to grips with what he was— with the fact that he used to be human? How many times would he kiss her for the first time, forget that he cared about her, that he was gentle and kind and when he touched her it made her heart soar? Would she have to have this conversation with him every few weeks after she offered him her blood? She knew her expression darkened a little, but Steve was unbothered. 

“What you don’t want seventy-five-year-old food, Natasha?” he said, “It can’t be as bad as the dried fruit stuff you gave me.”

Natasha frowned a little. She was surprised he remembered that at all. He had drank from her twice since then, and it was going on three weeks now since he had tried her food… he had forgotten her almost completely in less time than that… Steve smirked and returned the tin to the cache and handed her the dried fruit instead. There were so many things that she didn’t understand about him. That he’d never be able to explain or answer about himself if he didn’t remember his past, if his memory was as inconstant as shifting sands every time he fed. Noticing her descent into silence, and perhaps misinterpreting it as a backslide into grief, Steve smoothed her hair from her face. 

“Do you want to try the woods again today?” he asked. 

There was so much Natasha wanted to ask him, but didn’t know how. How much did he remember of her? Of the past few weeks together? A tiny, nagging feeling took root in her that she couldn't place. Instead, she popped the tin open and nodded.

* * *

Their routine began to transform to reflect their changing relationship. At first that awkward tension was still there between them as they began to move toward becoming more comfortable with whatever this new thing was. She still had nightmares, still had fitful sleeps, but mornings in bed now began with a kiss. Sometimes on the top of her head, sometimes, her cheek, or her forehead or her hand. If they were really daring they repeated that slow rhythm of sweet kisses, Natasha curling into him to take him possessively. It became more comfortable, less thrillingly strange and awkward to claim the other’s lips, to discover how best to do this. They had discovered pretty quickly that there were some clear boundaries. Steve had to be mindful of his sharp teeth and not grip her too tightly and Natasha had to make sure not to push him beyond his limits. This was followed by time spent together in the morning, a walk in the woods, where Steve would either leave for provisions, or stay with her for the day. Natasha occupied herself with starting her garden, or pushing herself to try the woods again, or work on her strength and conditioning. Sometimes that meant that they sparred, other times it meant that she trained on her own. It was so weird, and at times, too much for Natasha. Too indulgent and giddy and happy after everything she had gone through. She didn’t feel she deserved it. But Steve seemed so content to navigate these strange waters with her. 

The woods became an obstacle that Natasha was determined to conquer. Each day she followed Steve, venturing a little further in with him, but the sight of the fading cabin still made her shake. It was her lifeboat, her last place of refuge, her home. Steve always brought her back to the safety of the clearing when that happened. It would take some time before she felt ready enough to join him on his hunting and scavenging trips and that made her angry. It meant that she would have to wait to go back for Clint as well… But Steve would always give her a gentle smile, a kiss on the cheek, or palm, or forehead. He would tell her how much further she had made it that day, how she’d be able to go even further the next day and the day after that. 

It was true, she was making slow progress, but it was hard to stay patient with herself. She was so ready to move toward something else, but healing came first. Her body was healing, and her mind could too. She couldn’t run without learning how to walk again first. But there was a part of her that hated leaning on Steve like this, hated having to be patient with herself. It was a struggle to silence that voice, especially when some days it was so loud. _ How dare she wallow in self pity like this _ , it accused, _ she was weak, Steve would tire of her _. 

Days bled into the next, but Natasha began to learn to trust the routine, to find purpose in her dirt patch of a garden, to trust that Steve would come back. Maybe it was too good to be true— it was scary to consider that this is what she was now, that she was broken but mending, that she was in some kind of relationship with Steve, that she could put herself first. 

It was hard not to feel giddy, or indulgent and decadent when she gave herself to this growing happiness. 

Today they had deviated from their usual ritual— she woke up this morning to find Steve sketching her. It made her happier than she would ever admit that he liked her gift and used it. He refused to show her, claiming he couldn’t get her nose right which drew a smile from her. The routine resumed with kisses in bed after this. 

They ventured into the woods, Natasha telling him stories. The trees closed in around her again, looming and claustrophobic. She made herself take a few more steps into the forest before her legs began to shake and she faltered. Steve smoothed her hair, this was the farthest they had made it so far. It was something to be proud of. He left for provisions shortly after and she returned to the little clearing to centre herself. 

After working around the cabin for a while, Natasha used her small progress with navigating the woods to do some foraging and finding seeds for her garden on her own. It was a shaky and nerve wracking experience, but she was resolved to start planting this week.

She worked in the garden now, churning the soil in the warm, late afternoon sun. She paused and wiped the sweat from her forehead, pausing a while to watch the treeline where Steve had left for the day. Idly she scratched her neck, her nails catching on the scab of where Steve had drank from her. She sighed at the ugly reminder. It had been approaching a week since she had given him her blood. He would need it soon. She had hoped that he would trust her enough to ask for it now, but he had never once mentioned it. Natasha didn’t like to bring it up— sometimes she forgot about it. He seemed fine. Alarmingly, he seemed totally fine. But he had gone this long before without needing it, or showing those symptoms of bloodlust… Natasha returned her gaze to the earth she knelt in and began to dig. She would offer tonight. It was easier to ask him at night, he seemed much more at ease.

“What are you digging for?” 

She hadn’t heard Steve approach and Natasha jumped a little at the sound of his voice. Her hands and forearms were deep in the earth, coated with rich brown dirt. She leaned back on her heels and wiped the hair away from her face with her forearm before turning to face him. 

“I’m starting my garden,” she said quietly. 

Steve knelt next to her, a soft smile gracing his lips. She couldn’t resist that look he gave her, it always made her heart flutter. 

“Don’t you need plants for it to be a garden?” he teased. 

She couldn’t help but smirk. “I’m prepping the soil first, you ass.” She said turning back to pull away more weeds and dead patches of grass from the rich earth. “And I was going to plant some flowers and herbs today.” Steve watched her with an easy expression. 

Natasha blew the stray hairs from her nose and squinted in the light of the sun. She eyed Steve, who seemed content to just watch her work. She pulled and cleared more patches of earth, mentally surveying where she would expand the little patch of ground before she turned back to Steve, sweat beading in her hairline, her cheeks warm and flushed. 

“Are you going to help, or are you purely ornamental?” She asked with a little smirk. 

He laughed a little at that. “Oh please,” he said, “I’m only the second prettiest thing in your dirt garden, Natasha.” 

She scoffed at that, he was such a terrible sweet-talker. “Ha! I see how it is. Second prettiest…” She glanced at Steve who posed like a lawn ornament, determined to make her laugh. It worked and she dissolved into laughter. “Second prettiest and most useless, evidently.” 

His eyebrows shot up incredulously and she laughed and shoved him, knocking him off balance. He grabbed her arm as he fell, pulling her down with him. She landed on top of him, savouring the feel of his laughter rumbling through her. It felt raw, selfish and indulgent and that little well of guilt opened up like an old wound, oozing into her heart. But Natasha laughed, trying to push aside that guilt she felt for surviving. It wasn’t her fault. She had finally started to believe herself when she told herself that. It wasn’t her fault… 

She became a little somber, her smile fading. She wanted to leave that guilt behind. She wished more than anything that she could stay in the moment and not feel ashamed for living, for having a shred of happiness. Perhaps sensing her sadness, Steve smoothed his thumb across her cheek, expression wistful. His eyes were gentle, framed by his long, thick lashes as he searched her face.

“You have dirt all over your cheeks,” he observed. 

Natasha sniffed and swiped at her cheeks with a little broken laugh. He smiled gently, like he wanted so badly for her to be happy. He held her by the arm, one hand tracing a path up her sun-warmed skin. “Here— You’re making it worse, Natasha.” he said with a laugh. She paused, remembering that her hands were covered in dirt and withdrew her dirty palm from her face with a little chuckle. Steve brushed her cheeks with his knuckles, his touch cool and soothing on her flushed face. “Let me get that for you,” he said. She smiled a little more genuinely, her heart beating fast. 

“Aw thanks Steve,” she said teasingly as she leaned into his touch, “I knew you were more than just a pretty face.” 

He snorted, his breath stirring the hairs around her face as his lips pulled into a mischievous smirk. She moved to get off of him but he smoothed his thumb across her cheek, sending a shiver through her. “Well I don’t work for free,” he said as he pulled her down and pressed his lips to hers.

Natasha laughed as their lips met softly, sweetly. His hands drifted to cradle her head, his fingers playing greedily with her hair. His other hand slid down to the small of her back and Natasha felt her skin flush at the contact. He kissed her so surely, so tenderly. It was clear that he wanted nothing more than for her to enjoy this, to surrender to this. She breathed in the scent of him— fresh and woodsy, coloured by the loamy earth around her. Steve pressed her closer, deepening the kiss and drawing a needy little sound from her. He smiled, she could feel him smile, and Natasha gasped a breathy little laugh when he suddenly rolled her onto her back in the sweet, warm grass. She savoured the coolness of his skin, the taste of him, his weight resting comfortably on top of her. Idly her hands skimmed his sides, finding that scar she liked on his back. She melted into the earth, feeling both deeply connected and adrift from her surroundings all at once. He kissed her deeply, teasingly. It was maddening and Natasha’s tongue flicked out like a reflex to taste him, to trace the seam of his lips, to explore him. Steve drew a startled breath at the contact and her tongue slipped inside his mouth to meet his. His mouth was shockingly cool, a sensation that she never seemed to get used to. Steve tensed, his hand squeezing her leg briefly as he timidly kissed her back like this. 

She could sense his hesitancy and had half a mind to stop, thinking she might’ve pushed it too far. But Steve was strangely in control, she had never seen him like this, it was usually overwhelming for him to kiss her for very long. His senses often drove him wild and they had to stop. But he gripped her, becoming more confident as his tongue delved into her mouth to explore. Strange parts of her began to come alive then— the tops of her shoulders, the nape of her neck, the backs of her knees as he kissed her. She never wanted anything so much as this— it was nearly overwhelming for _ her _this time. Natasha made a muffled little noise and Steve pulled away breathlessly to plant soft kisses in an icy trail down her jawline and neck. Immediately Natasha’s eyes fluttered open and she stared up at the brilliant blue of the late afternoon sky. Maybe it should scare her— after all he had taken blood from her like this before… 

Perhaps sensing that she was a little nervous, Steve placed a reassuring, tender kiss over her pulse. He seemed to promise that he’d never hurt her like that, he’d never lose himself like that again and she shivered. It seemed strange to believe him, but she did. As he kissed her, she felt trust, deeper than anything she had felt before race through her. Steve resumed his path down her throat, kissing her delicately, deliciously. She could feel the feathery brush of his hair, his nose, his eyelashes fluttering against her as he devotedly kissed the juncture between her neck and shoulder. Natasha jumped, feeling sensitive. Her skin tingled, shooting sensation through her body like a current of electricity.

He seemed to relish her reaction and nuzzled into her neck, making her squirm. She felt his smile against her skin— the quirk of his lips, the movement of muscles in his face as he kissed her again. What an odd way to discover she was ticklish. She jerked her chin to the side, trapping him against her, her fingers digging involuntarily into his back as she laughed. It rumbled through them, making Steve pause with a low hum against her neck. 

Pausing a little, Steve became a little contemplative, a little shy and Natasha blinked, her hands falling still on his back. She was about to ask him what was the matter when he inhaled, the sensation giving her goosebumps.

“I love you,” she felt him murmur against her skin.

Shock washed over her and her body went cold. She wriggled away and sat up and just stared at him, disbelieving. Had she heard him right? Steve pulled away a little, his head tilted to the side, a nervous smile on his face. “I didn’t understand what that meant before,” he said, moving to trace the shape of her lips with his thumb, his knuckles sweeping her jawline, “But I do now.” 

Natasha’s lips parted slightly, unable to fathom what he had said. She just searched him, wide-eyed in baffled silence. Steve watched her, silver eyes earnest, gentle, imploring and finally his words sunk into her, causing a deep, hot flush of colour to bloom in her cheeks. She was certain she had turned about three shades of red. Taking in the journey of her expression, Steve laughed, genuine— _ kind— _and dipped his lips to hers again. He could reassure her, prove himself in other ways. Every gentle press of his lips, every touch coaxed her, persuaded her, assured her this was real. 

“I love you” he repeated against her lips like a secret that he sealed with a tender kiss. He meant it. 

A rush of heat pooled in Natasha and she breathed his name. He hummed in response, the sound pleasantly vibrated through her. Her mind buzzed incoherently. _ He loved her. _ She buried her face into her hands, unable to process and Steve brushed her hair from her neck with a chuckle. She didn’t know how to answer him, her fingers coming to rest over her lips as every inch of her skin burned with shyness. No one had ever said that to her before. Not like he had. It scared her as much as it filled her with such weightless joy. 

Steve didn’t seem to need an answer from her and she was grateful for that. At the moment, it felt as if there weren’t any words she could offer him that would truly touch the depth of what she felt. She couldn’t begin to tell him— not yet anyway. And that was fine. But it didn’t stop him from teasing her for the rest of the afternoon. Natasha was too happy to do much about it, she just turned her three shades of red and ignored him until he kissed her again. Somehow that made it all so much better. 

That evening was spent in their normal routine. But everything was coloured by his confession. It was so clear now, so obvious in the way that he looked at her, touched her, kissed her. He loved her. It made Natasha’s head spin and she froze and buried her flushed face in her hands every time she remembered. She was so out of her element, so paralyzed by her inexperience with this, but Steve was patient. Steve was so easy with her. 

As Natasha lay down to sleep that night, her heart raced as she stared at the wooden beams on the ceiling. How did she get to this point? It was a question that she asked herself often and to recall what led to this was such a surreal experience. How did she wind up here? She clasped her hands over her thundering heart, watching the darkness above her. Beside her, Steve propped himself up on his elbow to watch her. He delicately caressed the freckles on her shoulder before planting a kiss there. He laughed a little at her expression. 

Maybe it hardly mattered. She was here now. She was building her life now from the ground up, retaking parts of herself back. She was becoming so much more than she was.

“I love you, Natasha,” Steve reminded her. 

She smiled a little at the ceiling. She was building that, too.

* * *

Natasha awoke curled into Steve’s body. Her legs were twined with his, her arms wrapped around his waist, fingers resting against her favourite scar on his back. She could feel his face buried in her hair, his arm loosely circled over her hip. She sighed against him and inhaled his scent as she stretched, her toes curling as she did. Taking a deep breath, Natasha relaxed into him, reveling in the peaceful moment. Steve was quiet, usually still. He seemed to like watching her wake up most mornings, but he was silent today, his breaths stirring her hair. Natasha frowned and shot up to look at him. His eyes were gently closed, his lips parted softly. His breaths were quick and shallow. 

“Steve?” she said, giving him a little shake. But he didn’t move. He was totally unresponsive. Fear pulled her straight out of her morning bliss and she sat up in bed to lean over him. She didn’t know what to do— panic gripped her and told her he was comatose, that he was dying. But that was a diagnosis for human partners. That wasn’t possible for Steve. Natasha tried to calm herself a little, smoothing her hand over his heart. She found that it beat so shallowly that she had trouble detecting it at all. 

“Steve?!” She hated how panicked she sounded. But she was scared, terrified of what was happening to him. She’d only ever seen him do this twice before, her brain supplied. Natasha’s blood ran cold as she remembered what had happened. Was he dormant? He had said he only needed to do that after he healed from wounds, or lost a lot of blood… She anxiously smoothed his cheek, hoping this was some kind of joke. But Steve didn’t move. His body gave nothing away. There was no hint that he had had a violent encounter, no marks or bruises or broken bones… But he had told her that was the only reason he became like this at all… Natasha swallowed hard. Was he hiding something from her? 

She sat with him for a while, but he showed no signs of waking up any time soon. Reluctantly, Natasha left his side to occupy herself with sharpening her blade and tidying up items around the room in a daze. What was happening to him? What had he done that made him become like this? Worst of all— why didn’t he tell her if something had happened to him? The morning sun rose higher, signalling the arrival of the afternoon. Steve was still unchanged and the worry began to eat at her. 

Natasha whirled in alarm and dropped her blade when she heard Steve groan. He seized on the bed, his body rigid, his head thrown back, the veins in his neck and arms were visible from where she stood across the little room. His hands curled into tight fists, his claws shredding the thin mattress. He was frozen in an arch, grunting softly as if he was in pain.

Natasha flew closer, wanting so badly to touch him, to find out what was happening to him, but she stayed out of arm's reach. If he lashed out mid-seizure, he could do some serious damage… so she made herself wait. She could see his eyes were half opened, unseeing as another convulsion tore through him and he jerked, his teeth clamped painfully tight. Natasha trembled, not knowing what to do. After Steve collapsed back onto the mattress, he lay still, his shallow breaths returning, his eyes still half-open. What was happening to him? 

Natasha hesitantly approached and brushed the hair from his face. He was still totally unresponsive, though his heartbeat seemed a little stronger now. It raced beneath her palm in an uneven rhythm, struggling to keep going. She wasn’t sure what she hoped to find, but she searched his body again for a mark, a cut, something that would give her a clue as to what was wrong, what was happening. But there was nothing. Nothing she could do to help him out of this. Terrified, Natasha buried her head against his chest, her fingers curling tightly into the fabric of his shirt. 

She felt like she was there for a long time, just breathing and collecting herself. She needed to consider her next moves carefully. What if he didn’t wake up? What if he did and didn’t recognize her? She had to prepare herself for the worst, she had to think what she would do… but it was hard to cut through the panic that gripped her tightly. She shot up when Steve moved, she was half worried he was having another convulsion, half worried he might attack her. Instead, Steve shifted sleepily, like he was just waking up from a nap. His eyes fluttered open and he gave her a lazy half smile when he saw her. 

“Morning,” he said softly. 

Natasha felt the colour drain from her face, felt her heart stop in her chest. Steve’s smile slipped when he saw her expression, the tears on her cheeks. He sat up, eyes filled with concern. “What is it,” he said, “did you have another dream?” 

She wished it were that, rather than whatever she had just witnessed. “You had a seizure, Steve,” she said quietly, “you were dormant for hours and then you—” 

Steve sat up with a little frown of concern. “What’s happening to you?” she asked, her gaze fixed on the blanket on the bed. 

He studied his hand for a while before his fingers curled into a fist. His jaw was set in a hard line and he swallowed. When he turned back to her, he had on that neutral little smile again. The same one he had worn when he drank her blood. It gave her chills. 

“I feel fine,” he said, “I don’t know what that was, but I feel absolutely fine. Fantastic, even.” 

He got out of bed, and Natasha found herself following. That little nagging feeling returned, taking root in her heart. Doubt, she realized. It grew in her like a parasite. Something wasn’t right. Clearly, something wasn’t right… 

“We can’t ignore this, Steve, please—”

But that was what he seemed determined to do as he stretched and ran a hand through his hair. 

“Is this— do you need blood?” 

“No.” 

His tone was sharper than she expected, given his easy demeanor. It nearly made her jump. When he turned to face her, his smile was bright. 

“I don’t need it, Natasha.” 

She frowned. That didn’t seem right. It was going on a week as of yesterday. She meant to ask last night but it had slipped her mind after Steve’s confession. She felt the colour return to her cheeks as she thought about it, but suppressed that fluttering in her stomach. Studying him now, he was right. He showed none of those telltale signs of needing blood. In fact, he seemed brighter, more alert than ever. Natasha swallowed. 

Sensing her standoffishness, Steve seemed to sag a little. He sighed heavily and closed the distance between them to gently sweep his thumb across the mark on her cheek. “I don’t like to ask you, you know I don’t like it…” his expression was tense as his eyes traced the little scar there. It didn’t seem genuine. Like he was just telling her what she wanted to hear. She had put aside— _ ignored _ these moments of doubt, but they collected in her now with growing intensity. This wasn’t so easily explained away or ignored. He was hiding something. 

“Is… Is something wrong, Steve?” she asked hesitantly, unsure of how to get around this. He had never lied to her before, but now… He titled his head to the side a little. 

“You scared me, when you were like that,” she admitted, “I want to know if something is going on with you…” 

But he just gave her that neutral little expression again. It struck her how his smile never quite reached his eyes. “You’re right,” he said, “I need blood. That’s all.” 

She paused, the seed of doubt growing within her. She moved to expose her wrist, to offer herself to him, to call him on his bluff, but he gently guided her hand away. 

“Tonight,” he said, leaning in to kiss her, “I’ll be okay until tonight.”

She wanted to believe him. Steve gauged her reaction with a strange expression. He seemed to have a hard edge to him that she didn’t recognize. It hadn’t been there yesterday. It was like he had seen something awful. She had seen that look on Fury’s face, on Clint’s face. It was the look of someone who had seen a lot. But Steve leaned in and kissed her again, surely, sweetly. “I love you,” he promised. It still sent a wave of heat through her to hear him say it. She still cherished that more than anything. 

When he left that day, Natasha didn’t want him to. She was terrified of whatever this incident was this morning, and was scared to think it could happen again. Not that there was much she could do to help him when he was like that, but it was worse to imagine him going through it alone. But it gave her time to think. She turned over this morning’s events in her mind, resolving to confront him about what was happening to him. It felt awful to think of interrogating him again, of drawing this out of him. But what else could she do? This was a sudden and obvious turn for the worse, but his actions suddenly became much stranger. He left often, he was more in control, he ignored his thirst, he remembered more than she thought he would. What was this? She wanted to know for his sake and for hers. Natasha swallowed hard, her heart dancing around this feeling in her. She just wanted him to be safe. 

But Steve was late returning today. Natasha frowned as she watched the sun dip low in the sky. It would be dark soon. He was usually back before this time, returning with a plant for her garden, or wood for the fire or a small game animal for her to eat. Natasha sighed and wiped her clammy palms on her pants, throwing a look to the treeline and feeling the fear rise sharply in her. She eyed the setting sun nervously and retreated to the safety of the cabin. She made herself sit and withdraw the needle and thread from the repair kit in the resupply cache. Some of the hunter under layers were torn or moth eaten and she needed something to keep herself busy. She got the fire going and sat on the little bed and began mending the holes with clumsy hands. 

It was difficult not to let Steve’s absence eat at her. Had he fallen dormant again? Or worse? But she felt helpless, paralyzed. She was two shirts in now and it was dusk. The sun had set and the light began to fade, revealing the soft twinkle of stars in the purple sky. She sighed and glanced furtively at the door before returning to her work. It was painfully quiet in the little space of the cabin, the crackle of the fire offering the only other noise besides her even breaths. 

When a sudden shout split the night air, Natasha jumped and lanced her finger with the needle, causing her to hiss and draw it slowly back out of her flesh. Blood welled from the wound and she sucked it, throwing the shirt onto the bed and racing to the door. She thought she heard arguing, she thought she heard familiar voices speaking heatedly, but it was over so quickly that she couldn’t trust herself. 

Her hand was on the latch when the door suddenly opened and Steve nearly crashed into her. His expression was unusually distant, a familiar flash of cruelty laced his eyes, but disappeared when he saw her. They both paused, as if not expecting the other to be there. He held a little game bird by its feet, its neck snapped. 

Natasha stepped back in relief and he set the bird down on the little table in the corner. A thousand questions swirled in her mind, but only one came out of her mouth.

“What was that sound?” she asked, trying to wrap her throbbing finger in her shirt. 

Steve looked like he might not answer her. He turned away and busied himself with other things. 

“Steve?” 

“It was nothing,” he said finally, “a stray horde infected.” 

Natasha paused. It had been weeks since the fall of Shield, they were so isolated here that encountering the horde seemed like a rare occurrence. It was alarming to think they were moving this way, but something about his words rang false. She wanted to ask him about the argument, about the hushed voices, but he was suddenly in front of her, gently taking her hand and inspecting her bloody finger. 

“What happened?” he asked, bringing her finger up to inspect it. 

“I jabbed it—” she began, but he pulled her finger into his mouth and gently sucked it, eyes watching her as she spoke. Her voice faltered a little, “with a sewing needle.” 

Steve hummed, and kissed her hand with an impish smile. “What’d you do that for?” 

Natasha slid her hand to cup his face. She traced the ridges of Steve’s cheekbones, the blackened veins in his face with her thumb with an edge of uncertainty. “You startled me,” she said softly. He turned to press a kiss on her wrist, then up her forearm. His nose skimmed her delicate skin and she shuddered. “Sorry,” he murmured against her. He was more forward than usual, brighter and more awake, somehow. He seemed to crave her, and it gave her a little thrill. That could wait. She would ask him what was going on with him, what was happening to him. But he seemed to keep her on the defensive, not giving her the space to collect herself. 

But there was a strange pause, an electricity that hummed beneath her skin as he gazed down at her. “Steve—” she said, but his lips took hers, exploring, coaxing, his breath cold against her flushed skin. He exhaled sharply, his breath mingling with hers as his hand came up to grasp the back of her head. It was like a dam broke in Steve. Their kisses before had been hesitant, gentle and sweet. But there was nothing of that now. He kissed her like nothing she had ever felt before, with a devotion and desire for her that was so all consuming that she couldn’t help but give herself to it. 

His other hand pressed her waist, drawing her closer and Natasha drew a startled breath when he backed them into the wall behind them. Steve took that from her, capturing her breaths with his lips as he pressed his body into hers. He braced his hand against the wall, the other still cupped her neck possessively. Her heart thrummed against him as she held fast, hands hesitantly flying to his back. Shades of when he had lost control and attacked her flew through her mind. But this was so different. He wasn’t out of control— far from it. He was commanding, assertive.

As he kissed her, Steve became less restrained, moving to plant an icy path of kisses down her neck with a breathy little growl. She felt so wanted, so deeply adored as he worshipped her with his mouth. Natasha gasped into his hair, moving to hesitantly kiss the skin just behind his ear. Steve rewarded her with a gentle suck on her pulse and Natasha arched into him, feeling like she might dissolve. Steve seemed to relish her reaction. She could feel how much he had wanted this. How much he wanted her. Natasha gripped him tighter, wanting to never let him go. But this was different… It wasn’t normally like this. 

Steve returned his attention to her lips, kissing her so deeply she felt her knees go weak. All traces of that gentleness were gone— he was demanding, hungry. She pulled away a little, feeling like she couldn’t breathe. But Steve chased her, hungrily stealing kisses between breaths. Natasha whimpered softly, and the sound seemed to spark something wild in him. With a low growl, his sharp teeth nicked her lower lip when he kissed her and she grunted in surprise. The iron taste of blood burst in her mouth and instinctively, his tongue flicked out, tasting her. Natasha immediately pushed him away, fear sinking deep into her like a pit.

Realizing what he had done, Steve withdrew apologetically. Natasha pursed her lips, sucking at the blood as she breathed. He seemed to regain some measure of control over himself and he watched her, his fingers coming up to cover his mouth. 

“Sorry,” he breathed, hardness overtaking his features. 

Natasha reached up to feel at her bleeding lip. She was speechless, overwhelmed by a strange seed of doubt taking hold and twisting her insides. Steve sighed and rubbed his temples tiredly. Natasha licked at the nick on her lip and Steve tracked her tongue, that strange desire returning to him. 

“Steve…” she said slowly, “where do you go during the day?” 

He became a little withdrawn at her question and stepped closer to take her hand, sliding her fingers into hers. “I told you,” he murmured, “I go out to get supplies. You know that.” 

Natasha swallowed and nodded, that was true, but that wasn’t all. She couldn’t shake the sense that there was something he wasn’t telling her. 

“Are you lying to me?” she asked, watching him in the dimming light. 

Steve considered her for a moment, eyes taking in her features. He stayed silent and Natasha swallowed hard. 

“Why won’t you tell me what’s going on with you?” she said quietly.

Steve sighed and took her hand. “I’m… Please trust me,” he said.

But how could she when something was so deeply, obviously wrong and he wouldn’t even talk to her about it? Steve kissed her cheek and slipped from her grasp. He seemed agitated, nearly vibrating with energy. She’d never seen him like this. 

“Is this… about blood? Do you need it now, Steve?” 

Steve laughed a little at the notion. “I can’t right now. Please, not right now. I don’t think I can control myself.” 

That admission really struck fear through her and he backed away a little, that wild look returning to him. “I think… it’d be best if I stayed away tonight,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. 

Natasha flushed, wanting answers but getting only more questions instead. “Steve—” 

But he was already in the doorway. “I’ll be back later… I just need— I need to clear my head.”

It was almost unbearable to watch him like this. But what else could she do? She understood nothing about his experience, about what he wanted and needed and felt as an infected. She felt as powerless as she had this morning as she watched him writhe and seize on the bed. His eyes caught the light of the fire and threw it back at her in an inhuman glow. 

“I love you,” he said, before turning and disappearing into the evening. Natasha watched him retreat into the woods where the darkness swallowed him whole. 

She was frozen, rooted in place for a moment before she followed him to the treeline. The forest towered over her, the shadows and dark spaces growing darker and longer with each passing minute. Even if the forest didn’t make her tremble and shake, she couldn’t follow him into the darkness. She closed her eyes, her heart a painful burden in her chest. He had grown so close, so dear to her… But he was sliding from her grasp, going through something that she could never even begin to understand. There were parts of him that she would never really know, she realized. And he wouldn’t share them with her. Maybe he couldn’t.

Thousands of possibilities flooded through her mind as she stood in the gathering darkness, small and alone on the edge of the woods. All of them were equally terrible. All of them made her realize that she couldn’t help him. Not in any way that mattered. It wouldn’t change anything if she kissed him, if she brought out that gentleness in him. It couldn’t change the fact that he was different from her. It wouldn’t bring back those soft moments or prolong those days where she lay with him in the sun or under the night sky. He was changing in ways she couldn’t comprehend and it killed her that he wanted to do it alone. It felt like a battle for his soul. He was caught between worlds, caught between sides of himself that she only knew parts of. She was losing him… 

“Здравствуй!” a familiar voice called. 

Natasha jumped and whirled around to face the source. An infected man sat lounging on the roof of the cottage, smiling down at her like the Cheshire cat. His long brown hair was pulled into a half knot to keep it from his face. His skin was scarred in places, long slashes marred his handsome features. He looked young, maybe around her age, but that didn’t mean much when it came to the Old Ones. He jumped down to join her, landing gracefully on the grass. As he stood in front of her in the dying light, dressed all in black, Natasha noted his coat sleeve fluttering empty in the breeze. It was as Steve had described, a one-armed infected man. The stranger. 

Natasha eyed him warily and moved back a step. She was unarmed. That was stupid of her. But she had been doing a lot of stupid things recently. 

“Aw don’t worry little red-haired girl,” the stranger purred, “I’m not going to hurt Stevie’s pet human.” 

Seeing him a little closer, Natasha thought she recognized him. His face seemed familiar, but she couldn’t place where she had seen it before. 

“Steve leave you alone again?” He smiled like he already knew the answer. 

Maybe it had been him that she had heard earlier. A stray horde infected indeed. He must’ve been watching her again. Natasha backed up another half step, wishing he wasn’t between her and the cabin. He was backing her further into the woods.

“What do you want?” she said, voice low. Her hairline prickled with fear. She could feel the whispers of the woods at her back. _ Run _ , they pleaded, _ run Natasha. _ But she made herself stay. 

“I came to see it for myself. You’re quite the human, you know, causing so much chaos. Everyone thinks you’re his personal blood supply. It’s not the first time it’s happened, an Old One taking a human on as a… feeding companion.” 

“That’s not it,” she said, disgusted. 

“Oh, I know,” the stranger’s eyes flashed with excitement, “I know it’s not. There’s something more between you two. You aren’t his possession, or his servant. It’s so fascinating. I’ve been trying to figure it out for myself, but I still don’t understand it. And Steve doesn’t want me here, he won’t let me try and figure you both out.”

He sounded annoyed, but it confirmed for Natasha that it was true, it had been him earlier. Worse still, his words seemed to imply that he had been talking to Steve for a while. 

“He’s so sure that I’ll break you, but you’re stronger than that, aren’t you, Red? We levelled your home and you’re still hanging in there.”

Natasha bristled at his words, anger— hot and dark and all consuming flooded her body. She hadn’t felt anger at all in the aftermath of Hydra destroying Shield, she skipped straight into numb grief. But hearing him speak now, taunting her and holding the destruction of her home, the death of her friends over her, it came back to her in a rush. She could feel her face twist into a snarl. 

“Fuck you,” she breathed, watching him hatefully. 

The stranger seemed to get off on that and smiled wider. 

“See I told him you weren’t fragile, even if you act like it. How long are you gonna sulk for? It’s no fun to watch.” 

He backed her closer to the treeline and Natasha felt her heart drop. 

“Where’s that little red-haired girl I saw in Russia all those years ago? Where is the girl who did whatever it took to survive? Killed her own family, her neighbours, her friends— other children… She was a real pill. I miss her. She was fun.” 

Natasha glowered, seething with hatred. But the stranger advanced, pushing her back into the shadows of the woods. Slicing through her anger was a terrible, primal fear. He was going to kill her. Natasha trembled and the stranger laughed, his eyes creasing with delight. 

“Look at you, shaking like a leaf! You were never scared of the woods before, Red. You were braver before. It’s a shame. I thought you’d make Steve soft, but it’s you who’s going soft. I slaughtered your hunter pals— I thought for sure it’d send you into a frenzy, but you’re just hiding in Stevie’s arms. He’s traded a lot for you and I honestly can’t see why.” 

The anger rose dangerously in her, but she suppressed it. He clearly wanted a reaction from her and she was determined not to give it to him. But his last words caught her attention, playing on that nagging sense of doubt. Steve had been talking to the stranger, but he seemed to imply it went further than that… The infected man grinned, she had given herself away in her reaction. Sensing a chink in her armour, he leaned in a little, relishing in her retreat. 

“He was adamant before,” he said, “that night in your little Shield safehouse, he was so certain that he didn’t need us. So sure that he could control himself, remember you, stay good… but he slips up one time and attacks you and then—”

Natasha blanched, not wanting to believe the stranger’s words. But she couldn’t stop herself from taking the bait. “What are you saying?” she said quietly. 

The stranger smirked wickedly. “Hail Hydra, doll.” 

She felt the colour drain from her face and the stranger smiled wider. “You’re lying,” she breathed, “you’re lying…” 

The stranger advanced, stepping closer as if to better examine the horror on her face. “He didn’t tell you?” he said with an air of amusement, “Oh that’s even better.” He laughed deeply, the sound echoing through the trees around them. 

“You thought this cozy little situation was just something he happened upon? That he was just sitting around twiddling his thumbs for three days after he left you to find your heap of rubble? Did you think that he was better, more stable by some miracle? You never noticed that he didn’t want your blood anymore?” 

He laughed harder and Natasha flushed with anger. She felt so stupid to not have seen it sooner. But she was nearly inconsolable for weeks and then this new relationship with Steve happened… 

“He outright refuses to drink from you anymore, did your self pity turn you sour? He’d rather use Hydra’s blood farms instead…”

She felt the heat of anger flush into her cheeks. Gritting her teeth painfully tight, Natasha curled her hands into fists. The stranger’s words hardly registered anymore. Everything he said just piled more and more hatred and misery on her. But he seemed to love the sight of it. 

“I can’t believe how stupid you are,” he said, “or maybe you like playing pretend with him?”

He gauged her reaction as if hoping she would respond. But she was in shock. She was seething with rage. He was lying. He had to be… The stranger grinned and put his hand over his heart with mock solemness.

“I am pleased to be the one to tell you, then. Steve traded this— a life with you left alone and secluded— for his cooperation with Hydra.”

Natasha crumpled, feeling like her whole world was torn apart for the second time since her home had been destroyed. He couldn’t be… He wouldn’t… 

“I wish you could see your face,” he said, a twisted smile on his face. “Oh, this is the most fun I’ve had in weeks. I’m so glad I came here to visit you.” 

All of the rage and contempt and grief that had built inside her bubbled over and Natasha lunged at him, swinging furiously. She caught him square in the face with a right cross. He couldn’t block it, he had no arm to block it, and the hit sent him back a step. His face hardened into a deadly expression. But Natasha swung her fist, aiming for his stupid, cocky mouth. He was ready for her this time, and quickly dodged and snapped her in close with his hand, crushing her against him painfully. 

“I could never see what he saw in you,” he hissed, face close and twisted into a sneer, he squeezed her wrist hard enough to bruise it, she could feel her bones threaten to snap under the pressure and she suppressed a pained cry. 

“You’re just as worthless as the rest of your kind. Before you know it, he’ll be done with you. He’s going to abandon you for good one of these days. Maybe he’ll just kill you when he’s tired of you.”

Natasha just seethed in his grip, taking in his face in the twilight. Seeing him up close, the shape of his features, she knew she recognized him. It drove her crazy. He didn’t take kindly to her scrutiny and shoved her away. Natasha stumbled back, eyes narrowing.

“Who are you?” she asked. 

He released her and moved back a step to consider her, his face set in an amused smirk. “I’ve been called a lot of things,” he said, “Winter Soldier, White Wolf—”

“Fucking asshole?” 

He laughed at that, cruelty overtaking his features. “Sometimes. None of them mean anything to me.” 

Natasha paused as soon as he said that. Steve had been the same way when she first met him. He didn’t remember his name. Maybe that was part of the stranger’s vested, obsessive interest in her and Steve. It was part of that terrible curiosity he had with the way Steve clung to his humanity, the way he chose to go by his human name. Maybe Madame Hydra had felt the same. None of Old Ones remembered what they used to be called and maybe that was troubling, deep down. To not have a name, an identity, or people who remembered you at all.

Natasha studied him for a beat, trying to recall where she had seen him before. The stranger’s eyes narrowed as she watched him. He seemed like he was about to say something, to make her stop looking at him like that, when his name struck her like lightning. He was one of the men in Steve’s command when he was human. He was one of the Howling Commandos. 

“James,” she said softly, trying to recall the stories she had heard, the posters she had seen, “Bucky.” 

He frowned at that, face twisting with anger and confusion. “What?” 

It felt good to hold something over him like this for once. To have him on the ropes and toy with him for her amusement. Maybe that’s why he did this. It was satisfying. 

“I thought I recognized you. You were one of the original hunters. You used to be Steve’s friend.”

She took a half step closer, relishing the half step back he took when she did. “Is that why you’re here, _ Bucky _? You still want to be his friend? You’re lonely? What, the Old Ones at Hydra aren’t doing it for you?” His eyes narrowed threateningly, but she didn’t care. He already told her he wasn’t about to kill Steve’s pet. Maybe that’s what she was, but she’d be damned if she didn’t try and hurt Bucky in the way he had hurt her. 

“For all your talk about how weak and frail and disgustingly human I am, you’re just as fucking sad,” she shoved him, taking her space back. Bucky stumbled back another half step, his brow knit into an indescribable expression.

“What’re you really here for, huh? To understand Steve? To understand me?” she laughed at him, giving herself to this anger.

“Shut up,” he growled, his face twisting in anger. 

But she had gotten under his skin. She had finally found something she could use against him. She wasn’t about to stop. “You gonna make me, Bucky?” 

His hand balled into a tight fist and her gaze flitted to him, nearly vibrating in rage. She knew he wanted to. “You won’t though, Steve made a deal, didn’t he? I’m off limits as long as he cooperates? You can’t touch me because they want him.”

Bucky leaned in, teeth bared. “Don’t tempt me,” he breathed, “I’ll take Hydra’s punishment if it means wiping that smirk from your stupid little face.” 

Natasha’s lips twisted into an ugly, fierce smile. She felt like she was breaking. He was confirming her worst fears. Steve was Hydra. It made her heart want to burst. 

“You’re a toothless fucking dog,” she hissed, leaning in to invade his space, “You pretend like you’re above all of that, like you’re different, like you have choices and freedom and that you matter, but when Hydra jerks your chain, you obey like the obedient little bitch you are.”

Bucky growled, eyes filled with rage as he lunged at her. They were almost nose to nose and Natasha tilted her chin to look up at him, daring him to prove her wrong. But he was silent, his teeth bared as he watched her. She wouldn’t be so easily intimidated.

“I bet it kills you that you’re no closer to understanding any of this. You’ll never understand why Steve is with me, why I stay with him. But you’re incapable of feeling that. You can’t understand what it means to care about anyone. You’ll never get it, Bucky.”

He snarled and his hand shot up and he grabbed her face, his fingers threatening to puncture her skin. 

“Shut up,” he hissed, “shut up.” 

But Natasha couldn’t. She was tired of this. She was tired of entertaining the infected. She was done being toyed with. She grabbed his wrist where he held her, imagining crushing it in her grip. Confusion laced Bucky’s features and Natasha couldn’t imagine what she must look like to earn such an expression from him. She felt hysterical. 

“You got what you came for, right?” She breathed, “You twisted the knife and got your little show. So you can fuck off, now James. You can fuck off back to Hydra and think whatever you want about me. Maybe I’m the world’s biggest idiot, I’m a bitch, I’m a vile, disgustingly weak human, that I’m… I’m Steve’s _ whatever _!”

She would’ve liked to believe that she pried his hand from her face, but she knew she wasn’t that strong. He let her go. 

“I’m done with you,” she breathed.

Bucky watched her with such utter contempt that she wasn’t entirely sure he’d let her live after that little outburst. But before he could do anything, they were interrupted. 

“Natasha.” 

Steve had returned, voice low and dangerous, “why don’t you go back inside, I’ll see that our friend leaves.” 

Bucky scoffed, eyeing her hatefully. She was of half a mind to tell Steve off, but she was pushing her luck with Bucky now and she knew it. Instead she swatted his hand away and he smiled angrily. She didn’t say another word, just stormed back inside to get her knife. 

She marched to the supply trunk and threw it open, easily locating the canvas sheath. It felt heavy in her hand. Outside she heard snarling, and she fumbled with her knife, drawing it from its sheath with untethered anger. When she returned to the doorway, she saw Steve, standing over Bucky. He had slashed his ribs and had him pinned, his face twisted in a cruel sneer. He looked like he was about to do more when he spotted Natasha watching him and pulled back a little. Bucky snorted and shot Natasha a hateful glance. Steve snatched his face, his claws digging hard into his flesh as he leaned in close to his ear. 

“You don’t get to look at her, do you understand me?” 

He didn’t wait for him to respond, he drove his fist into Bucky’s jaw, knocking him senseless. Natasha could hear it dislocate from the doorway of the cabin. Steve hauled a dazed Bucky to his feet, and shoved him hard, sending him crashing into the treeline. He followed, making sure to finish the job. Natasha watched in horror as he disappeared into the woods with him. She held her knife painfully tight. It was a few minutes before Steve returned, a stormy expression on his face. He paused in the light of the doorway, unable to look at her. 

“He said you were Hydra,” she said quietly, “Steve— tell me he was lying…” 

But he was silent. Natasha’s heart sank as she watched him in the dying light. 

“Natasha, they can fix me,” he said. 

Was that what they had promised him? He couldn’t contain the excitement in his voice. It hurt to hear such hope in him. Natasha wanted to believe him, but he had marked himself as her enemy and she couldn’t move from that awful revelation. It crushed her, pulling her into an awful numbness. 

“The scientists at Hydra they’ve been working on a fix for the memory problems that I’m facing… that the Old Ones are facing. They understand what I’m going through better than anyone…”

As much as he seemed to want it, she couldn’t be happy for him. 

“Don’t you see?” he asked, stepping closer, genuine hope lacing his features, “They can fix me. I won’t forget anything anymore. I won’t forget _ you _anymore. I can control myself. I don’t have to fight myself or piece myself together. I can be whole.” 

Natasha’s words were caught in her throat. His words barely registered with her as he continued.

“When you gave me the Shield cure, it put me in a state where the cure was acting against the infection, and the infection was trying to burn through the cure,” Steve said, “It’s not your fault, Natasha. The cure you gave me made me like this, made it so I could feel,” he gently took her hand as he spoke, “you made me what I want to be. You gave me the part of me that loves you, that can understand what that means. I know that part of me was missing before I met you.”

His words chilled her. She never wanted to think about how he used to be if she could help it. He took her hand and placed it over his steadily beating heart and she searched his face. Maybe it was her imagination, but his heartbeat was faint. Weaker.

“I’m exactly who I want to be… only, the cure you gave me, it accelerated the memory loss I had. I was losing control of myself, regressing further away from my true self the more I drank blood.” He looked distraught. “It was only a matter of time before I lost control… I’m never letting that happen again.”

Natasha’s brow furrowed. She had no idea the other side effects he was experiencing because of the cure. But he was right, he was who they both wanted him to be. Just Steve, not a cruel Old One, or Captain America. But it seemed so tenuous. He was different from the Steve she had travelled with. He was changed, somehow… Natasha doubted that Hydra wanted just Steve. They wanted something else.

Natasha closed herself off, turning away from him. She needed to think, but Steve was becoming agitated with her lack of understanding. He was usually so patient with her, but not with this. With a frustrated huff he took her by the arm, refusing to let her retreat. 

“I’m not doing this just for me,” he said, turning her to face him, “I’m doing this for you, too. Why can’t you understand that?” 

“Steve, don’t put this on me. Don’t make me something I’m not,” she said, voice taut with anger, “I don’t want you to do this. I’m not worth this! Nothing is.” 

His eyes glinted in frustration. “Fine,” he said, “Then it’s me. I want this,” he said emphatically clutching at his chest, eyes wide with anger. “_ I want this _ . If Hydra can fix me, then I’m theirs. If it means I can stay as _ myself _ —not whoever I may have been before—then I’ll do whatever it takes. If I have to work with them to make myself more stable, to make it so I don’t hurt _ you _ anymore, then I will!”

His voice rang out in the little space of the cabin and Natasha felt like she couldn’t breathe. Steve exhaled sharply, trying to calm himself. There was a pause before he spoke again, much more softly.

“I’m not joining them for good, Natasha. I’m taking what I need from them, and then I’m out.”

Natasha swallowed and Steve stepped a little closer, loosening his hold on her as he tried to assuage her fears. 

“I just want to stay with you,” he breathed, “isn’t that what you wanted?”

It hurt to have her words thrown back at her. Natasha trembled, nearly vibrating with anger and confusion and sorrow. “Yes,” she finally answered.

“Then you have to understand that I can’t do it without them,” he said, “I can’t stay sane, I can’t remember you, I can’t stop hurting you—drinking your blood or risking attacking you again—without their help.”

She felt sick. She couldn’t think. Steve searched her face, taking her silence to mean that she agreed with him— or at least that she was listening to what he said. He smiled, appearing genuinely happy, genuinely relieved and it sent a chill through her. He didn’t understand how much he was hurting her.

“How am I supposed to forgive this?” she asked softly.

Steve exhaled sharply, clearly wishing she could let this go the way that he had. But he hadn’t lived under Hydra’s tyranny, he hadn’t seen the vile things they had done. It was Hydra that took her parents and orphaned her, Hydra that took Clint, Hydra that was responsible for every ounce of misery in her life. Or maybe he did know, maybe he understood but he didn’t care. To him, Hydra was a means to an end. He let her go, turning away from her, rubbing his cheek.

“You can learn to, can’t you?” he asked softly.

A terrible silence opened like a rift between them. Natasha pursed her lips. She didn’t know. The rage in her told her that she never would. Never. Steve watched the door, inspecting the handle with interest. He didn’t look at her when he spoke. 

“They’ve already started the treatment on me.” He admitted.

Horror gripped Natasha and she backed away from him, shaking her head. She was too late to save him, too. They had got to him, too. She wanted to leave, she couldn’t do this. Not when he was her adversary. She didn’t care what Hydra had promised him, nothing was worth volunteering as their test subject. 

“Is that why you’ve been so different?” she asked, “Is that why you scared the shit out of me this morning?” 

Steve nodded sheepishly. “There’s… side effects. But they’ll pass.” 

No matter what Steve may feel, what she may feel, she couldn’t ignore this. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt. She was losing him. He really believed that Hydra would help him. But if he stayed with Hydra, if he became something else entirely… 

“Even… Even if I could accept that Hydra fixed you. Even if I could ignore everything they’ve done… what then, Steve?” She began, “Would you watch me wither and age? Am I just supposed to go along with everything?” She murmured. 

In her words lay a much deeper implication… Would he turn her? Is that something that he would do? If he would do anything to stay with her, did it matter that she stayed human? Steve shifted, his eyes becoming cold, flinty. He circled his arms around her waist as if to pull her away from that line of thinking. To pull her back to him.

“Don’t think about that now,” he said, “Just— if you’re happy with me now, just stay in that moment.” 

She held him tightly, her eyes drifting to the floor. She wanted that more than anything. She wanted to be happy with him, to stay with him. But… He was Hydra. He had traded this, this moment with her, this relationship with her, in a deal with Hydra. A wave of revulsion tore through her. Through his shirt, she anxiously traced the scar on his back.

“Natasha… just please try to understand,” he said desperately, “It’s working, I can feel it working…”

He sounded so sure. It ate her up.

“How?” she interrupted, a hard edge to her voice, “How do you know?”

He considered her for a moment, his eyes hard. “I remember everything,” he finally said, “I remember all seventy-five years of my life.” 

Natasha’s heart pounded in her ears. A curious part of her had always wanted to know, though she knew that nothing good would ever come of it.

“Tell me, then,” she pleaded, “tell me about you.”

Steve seemed to close himself off, becoming distant. Natasha was suddenly struck by his expression, he seemed hardened, more experienced. That innocent wonder was gone. That earnest curiosity was gone. That’s what was off about him— He was just as seasoned as she was, as Fury was, as any of them were. 

“There’s nothing to tell.” 

But that wasn’t fair. He couldn’t do this to her after everything they had been through. She wanted to know him, even the ugly, bitter parts of him. She stepped closer, her fingers curling into the hem of his shirt. 

“I don’t want more secrets, Steve,” she said softly, “I don’t want lies.”

He sighed, his lips set in a hard frown as he watched her. He looked like he was afraid of what she might say to him. But he had seen the things she had done, she had told him about some of her worst days and he still said that he loved her. Why wouldn’t he give her a chance to do the same? Steve watched the floor, deep in thought. In his expression Natasha could see how he carried the weight of what he had done. He was harder, experienced, a killer… When he spoke, she was deadly silent.

“In those early days, it took me a long time to become… aware. To become an Old One,” he began, his voice low, “It’s a bit of a blur— I think they kept me sedated initially, or they tried to… But I remember bits and pieces. It was strangely gradual. The longer I watched them, the more I seemed to regain control of myself. I was just like the horde at first, I wanted to kill them, I wanted to tear them apart, but that feeling gave way to something…” he paused, looking for the right word, “_ New,” _he breathed. 

It sent a chill through Natasha. She didn’t know how it worked with Old Ones and she was mesmerized by this, by him. He took her hand and squeezed it, maybe to reassure her, maybe to reassure himself. 

“I remember their words suddenly making sense to me. They would take their samples, try different things on me. They would speak to me as if I was _ him _.”

He spat the word like a curse. Steve Rogers. Natasha pursed her lips, wishing he wouldn’t despise him so much…

“I started listening to them when they spoke. I learned their names. Howard Stark, Peggy Carter. Something in me changed, I didn’t want to just kill them anymore. I wanted them to suffer as they died. I wanted to snuff out that hope in their eyes. It made me sick.”

Natasha’s hand felt clammy in his. She couldn’t look away. She had asked for this, but it didn’t stop her from becoming chilled. Why did he want to tell her this memory first? Was he trying to test her? To see how she would react to the truest version of him? But Steve just continued, eyes flinty and hard.

“They were always speaking in hushed voices as they tried so desperately to fix me. To kill me. Howard was the worst, he would speak to me like I was an invalid, like I was a child… He would tell me I was going to be alright; he would say he was going to _ save _ me… Carter couldn’t look at me after a while. She hated when I snarled at her, she hated when I looked at her. Sometimes I would do it because I knew it hurt her. Looking back on it now, I think she mostly hated herself.” 

He smiled sadly. Perhaps burdened with the knowledge of how he had made her hurt, how he had toyed with her. He seemed strangely wistful, like he wished he could speak with her again. Distantly, Natasha wondered what he might say.

“But I had to be careful,” he continued, “if I watched them too quietly, too calculatedly, they would know something was… different about me. They had no idea what was happening to me. I didn’t either, I didn’t understand what I was any more than they did. But they never gave up on me. I think sometimes Carter wanted to after seeing what I was, but Howard was so sure of his cure. They were always writing in that sketchbook, observing, testing, writing. It didn’t take me long to figure out how best to exploit those weak human emotions. Before their next test, I called out to him—to Howard. I gave him what he wanted, the promise that I was doing better. How could he have known otherwise? I was the first infected they heard speak.”

His eyes were distant, filled with pity. Natasha wasn’t sure for whom.

“‘Howard,’ I said. I put on that tone they used. It was so easy to do. He was so easy to manipulate. ‘I’m alright now,’ I told him, ‘untie me.’”

Steve chuckled humourlessly at the memory and Natasha shivered.

“He really thought what they were doing was working. What a fool. He was so hopeful, so eager to see me. He tasted so…”

Natasha’s eyes shone with tears. She wanted all of him, she told herself. Even this part of him. Steve tilted his head a little, eyes downcast as he searched for the right words.

“Bright. Wonderful.”

Natasha exhaled slowly, needing a second to process what Steve just told her. That wasn’t who he was anymore, but when she looked at him now, she was so scared that that’s what he would become again. It didn’t seem like Hydra to help Steve retain his humanity through this process. Whatever they had promised him, they were lying. Steve eyed her with an indiscernible expression.

“I took that book they wrote in, I wanted to take that from them too. It was another way to hurt them, I figured. After that I travelled around all over this place, all over this continent. I met other hunters, other infected, other Old Ones, but I wanted nothing to do with them. It’s not like I would remember them anyway. But I always returned to that place where I killed Howard. Where I killed Peggy. It felt like it was mine. It was familiar, even when I couldn’t remember why. I lived only to satisfy my thirst for destruction and violence and blood. But that’s not me anymore, Natasha. I’m finally whole, or at least, I’m starting to be…” 

Steve’s confession sent a wave of goosebumps across her flesh. She wanted that for him, too but not if it came from Hydra. Not if it came at the cost of everything she held dear. Natasha covered her mouth, hating this rift between them. Steve tilted his head a little, his expression wistful. She realized that he would do whatever it took to be with her, even turn to her enemies for help. He thought he could manipulate them into having it both ways, but Natasha knew he couldn’t. He didn’t know Hydra like she did.

“Steve,” she said quietly, “What does Hydra want from you?”

He clamped his mouth shut, his expression becoming hard. He looked like he wanted to lie to her again. He never lied to her before. It was one of the things that she had appreciated about him, but he was changing. Worst of all, he couldn’t even see what he was becoming anymore.

“They want my blood,” he said, “I don’t care what for.”

“Steve—” she pleaded. 

He clenched his jaw tightly, looking resentful.

“It doesn’t matter, Natasha! What did you think I was doing this whole time? Fighting for your cause? I only ever wanted you. I couldn’t care less about Hydra or Shield or any of that! I watched you nearly kill yourself over this. I watched you suffer and carry on, I watched you give everything you had for this until it broke you!”

The tears rolled down her cheeks and she swiped them furiously. “Did you stop me from getting to Shield in time?” she asked, voice low and dangerous, “Were you with Hydra when they slaughtered my friends and destroyed my home?”

Steve tilted his chin, his lips parting. He looked hurt that she would ask him that. But what did she know about him anymore?

“No,” he said, flatly, “I really tried to help you Natasha. I wanted to give you everything you wanted. But I’m tired of seeing you come away broken and empty. I just want you to be happy, Natasha. You were so happy with me. That’s all I want! I want you to live in peace…”

She sobbed a little laugh at that. Of course he did. He loved her. 

“I’m not asking you to like it,” he said, “but I’m doing this for you. I’m taking what I need so I can give you the life you deserve—"

“By crushing the rest of humanity?” she nearly shouted, “by facilitating the destruction of everyone like me? How can you compartmentalize me like that? I am human! I am part of Shield! I’m not like you, Steve!” 

He became cold at that notion, his expression steely and resolved. “I said it before, Natasha. I don’t care about them. Just you.” 

She stepped forward, her hands clutched desperately over her heart. “I can’t be your exception to this hatred for humanity!” 

His eyes narrowed. “But you allow me to be your exception for your hatred of the infected?” 

She gritted her teeth, pausing as Steve considered her. He tilted his head in curiosity.

“You have no love for the infected, for the Old Ones, for any of us. Don’t pretend you tolerate my kind any more than I tolerate yours.” 

“It’s different.”

“How?” 

“The infected are ruthless, they succumb to their thirst, and destroy endlessly, mindlessly. Like animals. They will consume and destroy because it’s all they know how to do. Even… Even the Old Ones,” she said quietly. 

Steve laughed at that. It was clear that he saw it differently than she did. It made her bristle in anger. 

“You’re right— humans are different. At first, I thought their selfish nature was something they couldn’t control… like the thirst for blood that we feel. But you showed me different. You were never like that. No—humans aren’t inflicted with a lack of choice. They _ choose _ to hurt. They choose to destroy. Your human partners sold you out to Madame Hydra because it was in their best interest. Your director used you like a weapon, like a blood bank, that lab technician tortured me because she liked it, your hunter team tormented me because they _ wanted _ to. Even your friend Clint, he lashed out at you— he hurt you when you defended me. He never tried to see it your way. Nobody ever tried to see it your way. Humans are selfish, needy creatures. They take and take until there’s nothing left.”

His words cut her like a thousand little shards of glass. She had been so blind. It was clear now that this was always how he felt. His faulty memory couldn’t erase his hatred of mankind… In his mind she was something other, like him. An exception. With a little smile, Steve continued.

“If anything, I’m being human. If the infected are driven by their basest needs, but humans are ruled by their selfish desires and they _ choose _ to succumb, then I’m as human as they come. But I’m not choosing Hydra; I’m choosing you and me.” 

Natasha had no response for him. He really believed what he was saying. He really thought humanity, the infected, were equally as hateful. Did he believe that about her as well? That she was sick with humanity? That she couldn’t help herself? Worst of all, was he right? 

Steve’s expression was tight as he watched her, and the rift between them grew wider. It broke her heart. “You want it all, don’t you Natasha?” 

She bristled at the accusation, but Steve was unbothered. It was painfully silent in the claustrophobic space of the cabin.

“But so do I,” he stepped closer, “I think we deserve that, don’t we? You were happy here, weren’t you? You don’t have to fight anymore, you don’t have to let this destroy you. I can’t stand by and watch while you give your life to this futile cause. It’s too late, you tried your hardest. I know you did, but you were too late.”

She couldn’t speak. She could only watch him in angry silence. It struck her that he was trying to save her from her humanity. He was trying to save her from herself.

“But what am I giving up in exchange for that?” she whispered, unable to look at him anymore, “I am giving up on everyone. I’m selling out humanity for you.” 

Steve hesitantly swept the hair from her face, but she was too numb to register the contact. “It’s not giving up when you’ve already lost,” he said softly.

Her eyes blurred with tears and they spilled from her, rolling down her cheek and stopping at Steve’s thumb. He brushed them gently from her face. He was always so gentle. She felt like she was suffocating.

“I need time,” she said, “I can’t…”

Steve had that careful, neutral smile on his face. He nodded, then leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Of course,” he said. Steve turned and left her alone, heading into the night air to process. Natasha sagged onto the bed, and buried her face in her hands. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well I can't believe it. It all comes full circle this week, bringing in those plot threads from like the beginning of the story lol. It's like the longest chapter on Earth, but I felt like I had a lot to cover this week. I'm kind of surprised I got it finished this Friday. No promises on a timely update for next week, but I'll do my best (as always). I'll be aiming for Friday/Saturday/Sunday next week. 
> 
> Thanks as always for reading!


	22. Down the Rabbit Hole

Natasha didn’t sleep at all that night and Steve didn’t return. After the initial shock of the terrible revelation that Steve was working with Hydra wore off, she got up and began to pace the small space of the cabin. She didn’t know what else to do. It was unthinkable to her that Steve would do this. It felt like betrayal, but it spoke of something much, much more. He loved her. In a twisted, misguided way. He would do whatever was necessary to stay with her, even if that meant siding with Hydra. 

Hydra wasn’t the kind of organization that would let a valuable asset like Steve slip through their fingers, they were delivering on their promises. They had given him what he wanted— he had her, and she stupidly, idiotically, played right into their hands. Natasha seethed, remembering the way that Steve looked at her when he told her he loved her. He had been so happy, so carefree. 

She smoothed her face miserably, tiredly. In the past few weeks, she had finally succumbed to her desires, she had allowed herself to want Steve, to want to be with him. When he touched her, she felt so safe, when he made her laugh, made her smile, it felt like the sun breaking through the clouds— warm and radiant. He was so gentle, so patient, so kind— it inspired a devotion in her to want to bring out these things in him. To foster them and make them grow. She loved his smile, the way he looked at her, the sound of his laugh, the smell of him… But Hydra had no use for these things. They would extinguish the parts of him she had come to adore. The thought made Natasha freeze in the small space of the cramped cabin, her hand over her mouth like she held in a secret that she wouldn’t dare to speak aloud. 

She loved him. She was in love with him. 

Tears threatened to spill from her eyes and she swiped them furiously. To Hydra she was nothing— a cog in this machine set in motion. They were taking steps to destroy humanity. They had already succeeded with Shield; all that remained were the colonies. Livestock. And Steve was a part of that. In her name, he had become a part of that. Where did she fit in? Why should she be an exception to the rule of Hydra because Steve deemed her to be worthy of surviving? It filled her with agony to think that he had put this on her. Marked her as a traitor to her own kind because he loved her. But she was just as responsible. She had abandoned humanity in staying with him. She had accepted that there was nothing she could do and gave up. Worse still, she didn’t want to leave. She still loved him. With terrible grief, she realized that she probably always would. 

The thought pulled at her heart, sending deep, awful panic through her. It made her run. She flew from the room in the morning light and through the trees and underbrush like a startled animal. The mid-morning light stung her eyes and she squinted as she fled further into the woods. Branches whipped her cheeks, pulled her hair, scratched her flesh. But she didn’t care. The woods closed in around her and her vision sharpened dangerously. She ran, her legs trembling, her whole frame threatening to shake itself apart under the weight of all of this.

Why? Why, after years of devoting herself to this fight to save humanity, why did she have to open her heart to the person who would facilitate its destruction? And he was doing it for her. 

Natasha stumbled and squeezed her eyes shut tightly as she panted and struggled to catch her breath. She inhaled deeply as she worked to calm herself and opened her eyes. She had frozen in a small clearing, wild grass tickling her scarred palms as she panted, frantically searching the treeline. Fear prickled down her spine as she took in the looming trees, the tangle of weeds and grass, the vibrant bursts of wildflowers colouring the place. She had run so much further than she had thought herself capable of going, but now she felt trapped. 

Natasha felt panic, familiar and sharp, rise in her chest. She struggled to control her body’s panicked response. It was so stupid of her to take off like this, but she couldn’t take being there anymore. The small space of the cabin felt like a prison— promising familiarity and warmth and love, but at such a high price that it made her sick. The dark shadows of the woods tilted dangerously, dizzily in her periphery and she sank down to sit in the tall grass, hands covering her face, trying not to hyperventilate. Slowly, she steadied herself, taking deep, even breaths before she opened her eyes again. The sun had risen a little more, shining high overhead, and she felt hidden and protected in the grass. Slowly, she began to relax. 

_ Think Natasha _ , she commanded, _ think _. The grass tickled her arms, the sun warm and pleasant on her skin. If this was a mission, what would she do? She exhaled slowly. She would start with what she knew; she knew Hydra was nearby if Steve was able to make it there and back in under a day, she knew that they had established a base of some kind if they were able to provide medical treatments and blood farms. Natasha’s fingers curled into the earth, and she inhaled deeply. They needed Steve for an unknown purpose— his blood, he had said. 

Something about that didn’t sit well with her— so she pursued that thought. Whatever Hydra had planned for Steve couldn’t be good. But what made him special to them? What could he give them that they didn’t already have? Her eyes fluttered open and she clenched her fists painfully tight, the bright red healing skin protested dully. She felt numb, goosebumps rising all over her flesh. Madame Hydra had told her already— back in the Shield facility in Belgium. “_ We will take him _ ” she had promised. “ _ An infected, an Old One who walks in the sunlight. _”

Natasha paled, feeling like she might be sick. Madame Hydra’s promise had come to pass, though not in the way she had expected. Thinking back on the past few weeks to when Bucky had showed up to threaten her at the safehouse, she remembered overhearing him offer Steve Hydra’s help back then, too. They had had their eye on him for a while now, it seemed… But if this was true, if that was what they wanted him for, it meant they were working to reverse engineer his resistance to sunlight. They were trying to create a breed of infected like Steve that could attack relentlessly, day and night.

It would mean the end of humanity. 

Natasha shot up, her hands shaking. She had to stop this— she _ had _ to stop this! Frantically, she searched the clearing, eyes roaming wildly over the serenity of it all. She wanted something there to corroborate what she was feeling… the world felt like it was ending, but the breeze gently swept through the grass and tossed the wildflowers into a lazy sway. Nothing matched how she felt. As her eyes roamed the little field, she spotted something out of place. Near the edge of the clearing, a rusted out armoured truck sat, derelict and overgrown. She had almost missed it, it blended so well with the surroundings. She found herself pulled toward it, her mind racing. 

Even if she convinced Steve to leave Hydra, to live with her alone and secluded, it would be too late for everyone else. They had his blood and had been working with him for a while now— they might already have a sunlight resistant strain under way. And Steve wouldn’t agree to destroy the labs that offered him his only means of retaining his memories. He had made that clear. But she had to stop them. She had to stop them before it was too late.

The old truck was missing its doors, the glass of the windshield was long shattered. It had no tires anymore and it was rooted in place, slowly becoming host to a number of trees growing their way through its frame. The covered back was still intact and Natasha climbed into the cab, unsure of what she was looking for. She pushed back the worn canvas covering and found the back full of mostly plants, debris, rotting wood and nothing of use. But she stepped into the old covered truck anyway, searching. Carefully, she avoided the rotting wood and pushed aside the plants. She mostly turned up nothing, but an old, rotten case rusted shut and overgrown caught her attention. 

Determined, she pried open its rusty hinges— Inside the case were eight unexploded mortar rounds. Natasha skimmed their surface very carefully as if to test that they were real. They were cold to the touch, still in good condition despite the years of disuse. She counted them again, unsure if they still would work… 

A nervous flutter rose through her, taking hold of her heart as she shut the case closed again. Already her mind was beginning to formulate a plan. She left the truck, pacing the clearing thoughtfully. It was a stupid, stupid idea, but she was running out of options. She glanced up at the sky to see that the sun was high overhead. It was already afternoon. She made herself calm down, eyeing the trees warily, and hesitantly entered the woods to find her way back to the cabin. The trees suffocated, towering over her as she found the trail she had left in the soft earth. She was still anxious, feeling small and powerless, but she pushed it down as best she could and devoted herself to this idea. She began to mark her path, leaving a trail sign as she went. Every now and then she had to stop and close her eyes tightly, to re-centre herself when it became too much. 

But she swallowed hard and covered her ears to think over the rush of the forest. What did she need to know in order to proceed? She inhaled and counted the number of freckles on the back of her hand. She needed to know what she was dealing with— how many infected were left at the base, how many Old Ones, and the location of the labs. 

She could start with that. If she knew those things, she could move. Natasha pushed onward through the forest, resolved to finish this one way or another.

* * *

When Natasha returned it was late afternoon and Steve was waiting with his head bowed, sitting by her empty garden. It had taken her a long time to get out of the woods, especially after she had to stop often to collect herself and push through her fear. As she approached, Steve looked up and gave her a nervous little half smile. 

“I was about to come looking for you,” he said. 

Natasha was numb as she watched him. He looked the same as he ever had, nothing about him appeared any different. But there was a rift between them now that she didn’t know how to fix.

“I couldn’t stay,” she said, her voice so painfully small in her own ears. 

Steve gave her a sad smile and massaged his neck tiredly. He didn’t seem to know what to say to her and they descended into silence for a while. Natasha watched the grass at her feet, a million questions racing through her mind. She made herself take a breath and sat next to him. It seemed like ages ago that he told her he loved her here. But she had to take this one step at a time, she couldn’t give herself away and she wanted to tease out where Steve stood today. He was pretty clear what he thought last night, but he seemed a bit more in control today. 

“Where did you go?” she asked. “Were you… there?”

She didn’t want to say it. _ Was he at Hydra _. Steve was quiet for a moment. She could feel his eyes on her, but Natasha couldn’t look at him, she just toyed with the grass between her fingers, rolling it between her thumb and forefinger before plucking it from the ground. 

“Yes,” Steve said, “they’re addressing the side effects.” 

Natasha felt sick to hear it, she felt herself sag a little and drew a deep breath. “What’s the solution?” 

“A second dose of their serum and fresh blood,” he replied, “AB negative.” 

That made her sick, too. But he was more honest now that he didn’t have to hide where we went in the day. Natasha swallowed and leaned her head against his shoulder, eyes fixed on the blade of grass she twirled between her fingers. Steve paused, unsure of her reaction. He wrapped his arm around her and held her tightly and she looked at him questioningly. He gently tucked the flyaways behind her ear, his thumb lingering over the scar Madame Hydra had cut into her cheek. 

“I don’t know how else to do this, Natasha.” he said softly. “I can feel myself becoming more than I ever was. Every day it’s like a new piece of me returns. I don’t want to forget what I was, forget those moments with you, or what I did that brought me to you. Even if it was empty, even if I was a monster, I don’t want to forget that anymore if it means that I can’t remember you.”

Natasha was filled with bitter ache. She interlaced her fingers with his and nuzzled against him. “You’re so sure that Hydra is making you something better. But don’t you think that’s what you’re becoming again? That version of you that couldn’t feel, that tried to kill me. You’re becoming more like him…”

His arms circled around her waist, and he pressed a kiss on her temple. He paused there thoughtfully and Natasha took his hand.

“I know what I was. I’m doing this to protect you from that part of me Natasha. But I want you to want this. That’s why I wanted to be ready before I told you. I wanted you to see that this was working, that this was a good thing.”

Natasha reached up and traced the veins in his face, smoothing her thumb across his cheekbone. What Steve wanted just drove her further away and the tighter he tried to hold on, the more she slipped through his grasp. And he couldn’t see that that’s what he was doing… It hurt more than anything and she leaned in and kissed him, missing the feeling of it. She breathed in his scent, focused on his lips against hers, the feel of his skin on hers. Even this part of it felt the same. She pulled away, her eyes downcast. 

“Is there anything I could say to you to make you stop this?” she asked the ground by her feet. 

She felt his fingers smooth across her shoulder and down her arm. Steve kissed the top of her shoulder, his lips lingering on her skin as he considered her question. 

“No,” he finally said. 

His answer was so resolute, so sure and Natasha crushed the grass she toyed with and tossed it away. They asked too much of each other. They wanted the other to give up a piece of themselves that was too important to lose. She couldn’t understand him, but a strange sense of calm washed over her at his words. It gave her purpose. It let her move. 

Natasha swallowed and met his gaze, “then— will you take me to Hydra?” she asked. 

Steve’s brow furrowed at her question. He clearly wasn’t expecting her to ask him something like that. He had compartmentalized her, kept her separate from his dealings with Hydra and now seemed uncomfortable with the idea that his two worlds were seemingly colliding. 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea…” he said. 

But Natasha pressed him, leaning in to watch him imploringly. “I want to accept this, Steve,” she lied, “I want to understand all of you, I want to be part of your world, not a fragile thing you keep separate from it. I’m trying to understand this…” 

Part of her words were the truth, but her purpose was a little more insidious. He had given her her answer. He wouldn’t stop this until he had what he wanted, the rest of humanity be damned. It gave Natasha clarity— she knew all she needed to know. She had to destroy Hydra.

Steve searched her, a little incredulous. “I’ll think about it,” he said. 

Natasha left it at that, wanting to give him space. Inside she was panicking— she needed him to say yes to this. She needed to see Hydra for herself… Having Steve as a guide would be an added level of security to her plan. As evening crept in and Natasha settled in for the night, she became cautious, falling back into their old routine as if to reassure Steve that everything was alright between them. She needed him to believe her, everything was riding on that. But she would be lying if she said that was her sole purpose in holding him close, in kissing him and moving over in bed so he could lie next to her. She’d be lying if she said a part of her didn’t want this more than anything. Steve was hesitant, perhaps sensing this may be too good to be true, but couldn’t think what her other motivation for this could be. 

She became a little standoffish, fearing she was laying it on too thick, but she was so desperate for contact. She wanted her Steve back. “Are you sure you won’t be experiencing… side effects?” she asked lightly, hoping this would be a suitable explanation for her odd behaviour. 

“There might be a few lingering quirks to work out,” he admitted. “I might go dormant again, but they are sure that there’ll be no more seizures.” 

Natasha breathed and stared up at the ceiling, creeping dread spreading through her as she pictured who “they” were. Steve sighed and kissed her temple, his arms circling around her waist as he curled into her. Natasha just blinked and interlaced her fingers with his tightly. They lay in silence for a while before Steve hummed absently, fingers brushing through her hair. She recognized the tune as the same one he had hummed when he was held in the cells at Shield. She wondered where he had learned it. She wondered a lot of things about him, but he remembered now. He could answer her now. 

“When we first met… Do you remember what that was like?” she said, her voice quiet in the darkness of the cabin. She wondered what he had thought of her. 

Steve chuckled warmly, turning on his side to look at her. “You’ll have to be more specific,” he said, “we’ve had a lot of first meetings.” 

She turned to him with a hesitant little smile. It felt so much like she was talking to her Steve, the Steve she had fallen for. “Which was the most memorable, then?”

Steve traced a finger down her arm thoughtfully, his touch electric on her skin. “When you offered me your blood for the first time,” he said, “I didn’t remember how I knew you, but I knew that I did. I knew you didn’t kill me, that you had given me this,” he tapped his heart lightly with a faint smile, “I thought you were nuts.” 

Natasha smirked at him and shifted her head against the pillow. “But you were brave,” he continued softly, “you were gentler than I deserved, you were so strong. I’d never seen anyone so…” he sighed a little, trying to think of the words to describe it. “Breathtaking.” 

Natasha’s smirk faded and she listened intently, curling into him.

“Or… when you smiled at me in the base with Madame Hydra. I didn’t know you at all then, I didn’t remember you. I tried so hard to, Natasha.” His expression became pained at the memory and he held her tight. 

“When you left, I broke out two days later. I followed your scent, I repeated your name, I tried to picture you. I thought… I thought if I could find you again you could help me. I was happy with you. It was brief, but you smiled at me, you touched me, you talked to me… I wanted to hold onto that. But I lost what you looked like first, then your name…” he sighed, “I remembered the scent and it led to you. I finally found you but I didn’t know you. But you smiled at me, you called me by my name…” 

Natasha had become quiet as she listened. She had always wondered what he felt about all of this. At the time she didn’t have much time to devote to considering his feelings, but she was always glad that he was drawn to stay with her despite everything. He had always wanted to stay with her.

“Even before… before you injected me, when I was…” he paused, clearly uncomfortable talking about the way he used to be, “when you said my name, I couldn’t explain it— It felt like mine, it felt like a piece of me that I had been missing. I think I was scared of you in that moment. I was afraid of the hold you had over me. I was yours; even then, I was yours.” 

Natasha felt herself flush and Steve swept his thumb across her cheek. “I love you, Natasha,” he said, “I think I always have.” 

She leaned in and kissed him softly, her heart heavy in her chest. She wanted to say it back, but she couldn’t. Not until she knew he was safe, not until he was free of Hydra’s control. After, she reasoned. There would be time after.

* * *

The following day Steve gave her request to visit Hydra some serious thought and Natasha began preparations on her own while he was away. When he left for the day, she practiced navigating the woods again without him. She didn’t return to the clearing— not yet. It would draw suspicion if she went there too often, so Natasha just practiced facing down the anxiety that rose in her by sitting amongst the trees. It was hard; harder than facing down the nightmares she had as a child, but she felt everyone was counting on her. Even Steve— he didn’t know the trouble he was in and though he seemed more stable, more like his old self last night, he was asking for help from the wrong kind of people. When Natasha couldn’t handle the crushing anxiety of the woods anymore, she returned to the cabin. It felt stifling, offering such bittersweet promises. She sighed and sat by the garden. Idly her fingers sifted through the soil. Nothing would grow here, she didn’t want to plant anything anymore. 

It was mid-afternoon now and she was toying with the idea of going inside for some food when she caught sight of Steve, returning from the treeline, pale as a spectre. His return was earlier than Natasha anticipated and she immediately noticed that his eyes were distant, colder. It sent a chill through her to see him like that and his gaze flicked to her briefly. He must’ve noticed her concern, because he shook himself a little and sat next to her in the shade of the cabin. The sun seemed to irritate him today and he frowned, closing his eyes against the brightness. 

“Are you okay?” she asked quietly.

Steve nodded, burying his face in his hands. He looked exhausted and Natasha frowned. Cautiously, she reached out to touch him gently and he flinched, his expression taut. The brief contact seemed painful, like his nerves were overstimulated. 

“Steve… What are they doing to you?” 

He curled into himself, his whole body sagging with tiredness and her heart sank. 

“They didn’t say this process would be easy. Or painless,” he said. 

He tried to smile, to reassure her when he saw her worried expression, but Natasha didn’t buy it for one second. She hated seeing him like this, especially since he seemed to think it was necessary to put himself through this treatment. 

“Convince me this is worth it,” she said, watching him with such a sense of terrible helplessness. 

Steve shifted, eyeing her briefly before he leaned back and his eyes fluttered shut. “I… dream,” he whispered, his tone filled with wonder. “When I go dormant, sometimes after treatment… I have dreams.”

Natasha’s heart leapt into her throat. What did this mean for him? He had told her he couldn’t dream before when they were on the road. But now he seemed so… euphoric, so awestruck by the experience.

“I wish you had been there,” he said, “I wanted to see you when I woke up. It felt so real…” 

Natasha gave him the tiniest of smiles. When he was like this, experiencing things for the first time, totally in love with life and living and experiencing everything that came with that, her heart swelled. He answered her smile with one of his own, giving her a shy glance. 

“I dreamt about you. You were so bright, like the sun. When I touched you, you burned so hot that you warmed me up, too. You and I lived in a world without this bitter war. I dreamt that you were happy and safe, that I could be with you, that the infected and humanity could coexist.”

Sitting next to him, Natasha focused on the grass by her feet. Something didn’t quite sit right about that— by their very nature, humans and the infected couldn’t coexist. There was no harmony to be had when humanity would have to submit to being entertainment and food for the Old Ones. Even if they restored the humanity of the Old Ones, Natasha knew that those violent and sadistic impulses still existed… 

“It sounds like a nice dream, Steve,” she said softly.

He clenched his jaw, studying his hand as he curled it into a tight fist. “I can make it come true,” he said. Natasha frowned and turned to face him, his expression was strangely intense and he slipped on an earnest smile that set her on edge. 

“I’ll take you to Hydra,” he said, “I think it’ll be good for us. You’re right, I shouldn’t hide this from you anymore. I want you to see my vision, I want you to want this.”

It took everything in Natasha to smile at him, to feign relief. “I want that, too,” she said. 

He smiled back and leaned in to kiss her.

* * *

The next morning Steve gently shook Natasha awake as the sun rose. She shifted and breathed deeply and he gave her a gentle smile. “We’ll need to go early, I know the woods can be hard for you to navigate,” he said softly. 

Natasha gave him a little smile and prepped for the day. She pulled on a Shield jacket and brushed her fingers over the eagle logo absently. Stage one was reconnaissance— she needed to know what she was dealing with before she could make any further plans. Steve gently brushed her shoulder, snapping her from her thoughts. He watched her curiously before he nodded toward the door and they headed out of their little cabin and into the misty woods. 

She followed him through the maze of trees for what felt like hours. It made Natasha sweat nervously and they had to stop often, but she couldn’t give up now. Fighting through her rising panic, Natasha looked for landmarks, for ways to leave impressions in the trail without giving herself away. The sun was high overhead, illuminating the forest in the soft, golden light and Natasha began to wonder how much farther it would be. It was difficult for her to be this long in the woods without promise of a clearing or place where she felt like she could breathe. But Steve was so patient as he guided her, giving her a moment to rest. 

She curled against him, using the time to think— to remind herself of her mission. She needed to know how many infected there were, how many Old Ones, where the labs were… She repeated this in her mind over and over, using it to keep her focused. It wasn’t much longer after their rest and Steve distracted her with a game of ‘Would You Rather’. The game seemed to be helping as she followed behind him. She could almost forget her anxiety over this. Almost.

When Steve stopped, she nearly ran into his back, and he chuckled. She punched him softly and looked around. They were in a tangled little clearing— An old building, long fallen into disrepair, sat looming in its centre. It looked long-abandoned, ivy and moss reclaiming its worn brick surface. A little flicker of anger flashed in Natasha when she saw it. They had been here, right under Shield’s nose all this time.

“Temporary headquarters,” Steve said quietly, “Hydra has been establishing their foothold in France for a long time. Buildings close to the old cities or survivor colonies were a good place to set up camp.” 

Natasha steeled herself, inhaling deeply to try and shake off the nerves that threatened to shake her. 

“Is this it?” she asked quietly. 

Steve nodded, turning his attention to the ruined old building. “Yeah,” he said, “this is just a front, in case you haven’t guessed.” 

He pushed forward, marching through the underbrush toward the building. For a moment Natasha froze, watching his back as he retreated. Just for a moment. She clenched her fists and followed. 

They entered through an opened doorway around the back of the building. Natasha noted the crumbling exterior, the cracks in the building. It was fragile, exposed— one good hit might send part of the roof crashing in… But no one in their right mind would come here on their own like this. It was insanity to just enter an old building without a team and a supply of weapons, and Natasha wasn’t sure that anyone would’ve found this place if they didn’t know it was here already. As they entered the derelict building, Natasha steeled herself, and Steve took her hand. 

“Stay close,” he said quietly. 

In the dim light of the building, Steve’s voice echoed through the vaulted ceilings and run-down brick interior. It seemed abandoned, but as Natasha’s eyes adjusted to the light, she could perceive hundreds of glinting eyes watching her from the darkness. The horde. Immediately, she tensed, fear prickling down her skin. Steve squeezed her hand, his thumb sliding over her wrist to feel her pulse.

“Try to stay calm,” he said. “Everyone here is pretty excitable.” He gave her a reassuring look. “No one will hurt you, not while you’re with me.” 

Natasha inhaled shakily and followed him farther into the darkness. The eyes watched her from the pitch, shifting restlessly, soft growls and cries sounding out. This must be the first line of defense; even if someone discovered this place, they’d have to contend with an infestation of the infected. She made note of this as well. Natasha raised her chin as they passed the infected, sleepily standing in the dark, trusting Steve’s promise to keep her safe, and marched onward. 

Steve led her through the old building and Natasha surveyed how many hallways they entered and turns they had made. In her mind, she began to construct a mental map of the base. From the entrance, it was a straight shot through the annex, then a turn to the right and through a set of double doors… They had descended into a stairwell, spiralling down into the basement of the building. As they went deeper, the facility changed, pale lighting illuminated rooms and halls, and the old, ruinous compound began to give way to more modern, sterile environments. 

This area was constructed like a Shield lab wing— windows separated rooms from the hallways, allowing passersby to observe the activity within. It became strangely familiar, in a way. Personnel in lab gear worked in rooms, busy with their work, their silver eyes glinting when they paused to look up at her and Steve, before returning to their tasks. Steve led her through, his posture proud and straight. She could tell he was happy to show her this, to have her see the place that was ‘fixing’ him. They passed room after room, Natasha’s head on a swivel. She caught sight of science labs, testing rooms with wicked looking chairs and restraints at their centres, hospital-style beds, double doors leading into other areas… On her left she saw a set of double doors marked ‘supply’ and Steve tugged her onward, encouraging her to stay focused. Natasha gave him a reassuring smile and made note of the doors’ location. They passed a comfortable looking recovery room as Steve led her to some unknown destination when something else caught Natasha’s eye. 

It was only a brief glimpse, but a flash of bright red stood out against the stark whiteness of the facility. In the centre room, against the wall, was a bed adjusted to about a forty-five-degree angle. Lying on its surface was a withered, emaciated creature. At first, Natasha thought it was human remains; the face was so sunken and skeletal, red skin stretched thinly over the bones, highlighting the crevasses, the peaks and valleys of its ghastly face. When its eyes flickered up, silver irises glinting in the hard lighting of the room, Natasha shivered. The red-faced infected smiled grimly, revealing rows of thin, pointed teeth. An IV was attached to its arm, feeding blood directly into its thin body. It sat up a little, amused. Steve glanced back at Natasha when he noticed she had slowed considerably. He turned and squeezed her hand again before guiding her away from the hallway and into what looked like an empty supply room.

A thousand questions burned in her— what was that infected? Why did he look like… that? Steve tucked her hair behind her ear with a gentle smile. 

“It’s not so different from Shield,” he said “It’s just a little further, I wanted to show you the place they’re fixing me. I thought if you saw the process, you'd see it’s not so bad…” 

But Natasha wasn’t really listening; the image of the red-faced infected lingered in her mind. She stole a glance to the hallway behind Steve and gave him a nervous smile. “Who… was that?” she asked. She didn’t have to pretend to be interested, the sight of that infected shook her. 

Steve laughed a little, perhaps enjoying that she was out of her element now, that he was the one who could explain everything to her. “Hydra’s leader,” he said, “Red Skull.” 

Natasha went cold, and Steve’s hold on her wrist tightened briefly as he took in her reaction. He seemed almost grateful when he spoke of him. Something in his tone set her on edge, and Natasha couldn’t place what it was. Admiration? Fondness? It made her sick. 

Steve’s eyes narrowed slightly and he titled his head. Before he could ask her what was wrong, a scream cut him off from down the hall. He frowned and let go of Natasha, striding for the door. 

“Wait here,” he said, “I’ll be right back.” 

There was no way in hell she was doing that. She was on a mission. Natasha waited, counting down from ten before she left the room. She poked her head out of the room and looked around. The halls were empty and she chose a direction to head in, heading back toward the double doors she had seen marked ‘supply’ down the hall to the left. She quietly passed empty operating rooms, research labs, before coming to the double doors and slipped inside. The hallway was much more dimly lit, single metal fixtures buzzed overhead, casting a sickly yellow glow over the place. It stank. This hall looked to be converted asylum holding cells. Maybe that’s what this place had been at one point… 

Holding cell doors uniformly lined the hall; they were thick and metal, with a tiny observation slot cut into each. Distantly, Natasha thought she could hear muffled cries from the rooms at the end of the hall. She took a hesitant step forward, inching down the hallway until she came to the first door. 

The holding cell was marked AB-, and Natasha paused, hovering outside of the door. This must be where Steve was getting the blood he needed for his treatment… Dread settled over her to think that someone was there on the other side, being harvested for that purpose. As much as she wanted to, if she intervened now, she might jeopardize her mission… but she didn’t want to just leave—especially since she didn’t know how much destruction she was going to cause on the base if she went through with her plan. Was it worth it to destroy Hydra, even at the cost of these prisoners’ lives? 

Pragmatically, her answer was yes. It’s what Fury would do, it’s what Carter would’ve done… Natasha drew a deep breath. She had to stay focused. Her primary mission was reconnaissance. She knew the horde was upstairs, but not down here. Old Ones were all over the base, especially in the lab wing, but she had to escape with that information to proceed with the next phase of her plan. With a deep sense of regret, Natasha turned to leave, her feet scuffing the floor as she turned away from AB-. But she froze when she heard a familiar voice echo faintly from the other side of the door. 

“You just gonna stand there today, or are you coming in? Gimme a second, I’ll put the kettle on, you infected asshole.”

Natasha’s heart sank as she watched the door in horror. “…Sam?” she asked quietly.

There was a long beat of silence before the man on the other side answered. “Natasha?” His voice was weak, like he couldn’t believe what he heard.

She stepped closer to the thick, metal door, shooting a glance behind her as she did. She felt such a strange tangle of relief, hatred, disgust. How could he be here? How was he alive?

“Yes,” she replied.

Sam was wary when he spoke, like he wasn’t sure if he quite trusted that it was her. “What are you doing here? Did they get you, too?”

“No— I don’t have much time. I thought you were in Dunkirk? How long have you been here?”

He paused for a moment, seeming to trust that she was who she said she was, before answering in a hushed tone, “I don’t know, three weeks? They seem content to keep me around as much as possible. They can’t afford to lose their AB negative supply yet.” He sounded bitter. “They caught us on our way back from Dunkirk. What’s going on out there? Is Shield—”

Natasha swallowed hard. “Shield is gone,” she said, leaning in closer, “Hydra razed our base to the ground, I saw it. I don’t know if anyone survived, but Hydra’s after the colonies now.”

Sam was quiet as the news sunk in. “Shit. _ Fuck _.”

There was a pause where neither of them could say anything. It still seemed so impossible that Shield was gone. That they were alone in this fight. 

“You got any good news for me, Nat?”

She checked her surroundings carefully. “I’m working on something,” she said quietly, “can you hang in there a little while longer?”

Sam laughed humourlessly, “I could kiss you,” he said, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not gonna die just to spite these bastards, not if you’ve got something better planned.”

Natasha smiled wanly and stepped away from the door, wanting to leave Sam with some measure of hope. She was going to come back for him. She opened her mouth to reply, when the double doors behind her swung open and she nearly jumped out of her skin. Sam immediately fell quiet and she whirled to see Steve approaching, his look grim and displeased. He glanced at the AB- room and levelled his gaze on Natasha as he gently took her arm. 

“You shouldn’t wander down here,” he said. 

“Sorry,” Natasha said quietly, willing her heart to stop racing, “I only— I thought I heard…” 

Steve could tell something was wrong, and took her hand, glancing coolly at the doors down the hall. It didn’t escape Natasha’s notice that the muffled cries had gone completely silent when Steve spoke. 

“You shouldn’t see this, Natasha.”

She raised her chin indignantly. “This is part of it, too right? You’ve been getting blood here, using people like this? Why shouldn’t I see this? It’s part of what you do here.”

Steve sighed and his gaze flickered to Sam’s door again. “Is he someone you know?”

Natasha glanced at the door, trying to keep her expression neutral. She didn’t want him to know she knew Sam. She wasn’t sure what Hydra would do to him if they knew she had made contact with him and she didn’t need to give them any more ammunition than they already had. But Sam answered before Natasha had a chance to, sparing her from having to reply to Steve. 

“Is that—Steve?” he said, voice laced with mock delight. 

Steve shot a withering look at the door and ignored Sam. “Let’s go,” he said, taking Natasha’s arm and guiding her away.

“Aw c’mon man, you don’t need your fix today? You found a new blood bag? I thought I was your favourite.”

The implication irritated Steve and he snarled. “Shut up, _ human _,” he spat, “don’t talk to her.”

He gripped Natasha a little more insistently and steered her away from the hallway. She flushed, a shiver running down her spine. Sam laughed and Natasha could hear the edge of bitter anger lacing his tone.

“Hey Steve?” he called as they retreated back down the corridor toward the double doors, “go fuck yourself.”

When they were out of earshot, Natasha slowed, nearly coming to a stop and Steve turned to her, concern lacing his expression as he watched her carefully.

“You’re upset,” he said.

Natasha stayed quiet. She felt sick leaving Sam, but she had to believe that she would be back. She just stared straight ahead, hoping she wasn’t giving anything away. “What’s going to happen to him?” she asked quietly, “and others like him?” 

Steve watched her carefully, calculatingly. It sent a chill through her as he tried to work out what she wanted to hear. “If he’s a friend of yours, I can have him moved elsewhere.” 

Natasha frowned, the hair on her neck standing on end. He had divulged something incredibly important to her— if he was just a test subject, he wouldn’t have that kind of pull, would he? Worse still, was he testing her? Was he trying to parse out what she knew just as she did to him? 

Natasha gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “What do you mean?” she asked, a slow smile spreading across her face. 

Steve’s expression was impassive, and fear settled on Natasha. He wasn’t just helping Hydra by volunteering his blood. He was more than that. “I’ll see that he’s made more comfortable,” he said, before turning and guiding her away from the cells. 

Her hand felt clammy in his and she hoped that she appeared understandably nervous, not suspicious. It would make sense that she would be apprehensive about this place. A sharp cry pulled her from her thoughts and Natasha jumped. 

“What—” 

Another pained scream echoed down the hall and Natasha looked at Steve in alarm. His expression was grim. “I didn’t think they’d be testing on him today,” he said with an annoyed huff. 

Natasha frowned, hoping for an explanation, and Steve sighed. “Our friend, Winter Soldier.” 

Unease settled over Natasha as she listened to Bucky’s screams, and Steve seemed to survey her reaction with a sense of curiosity. “I know he threatened you the other night,” he said, “I know how upset he made you.” 

Natasha’s brow furrowed and she clenched her fists tightly. He was a fucking prick, that was for sure. 

“Would you like to watch?” Steve asked. 

Natasha shot him a surprised look, but he was totally serious. He wanted to know if she’d like to see him suffer. Her immediate response was no, the idea that Steve would want that for her, that she would like it, horrified her. But Natasha considered it for a moment, turning the idea over in her mind. She could see what they were testing firsthand. She could get a better sense of what they were doing down here… She looked Steve in the eye and nodded. He gave her a small smile and guided her to a set of doors that led to a two-way glass observation room. It was a little space, dark and stifled. There were seats set up like this was a place of entertainment and Natasha crossed her arms and chose to stand. It struck her how similar it was to the one Steve had been held in at Shield, once upon a time.

Through the glass, Natasha watched, intent on discovering whatever she could about this place. In the little testing room, Bucky was strapped to a seat, bound by thick, heavy restraints. Around him, lab technicians bustled, their gazes focused on their work. Bucky’s head lolled forward, his hair a tangled mess as it slipped from the half knot it had been tied in to keep it from his face. One of the lab techs gestured to another, eyes glinting in the low lighting. A surgical mask covered his mouth and Natasha couldn’t hear what he said, but the other lab tech stepped forward and adjusted the IV drip in Bucky’s arm, appearing to increase the dosage. Bucky seized, head jerking back. The tendons in his neck stood out as he screamed, his fingers flexing as he writhed in his restraints. Natasha bristled at the sight— it didn’t matter that he was an asshole, it gave her no pleasure to see this. 

“He’s been their test subject for years,” Steve said, leaning in to speak softly in her ear, “he’s an Old One, but he still hasn’t learned his place here. He’s lesser.”

Bucky jerked again as whatever they administered burned through him and he screamed hoarsely as it worked its way through his arm and into his body. From where she stood, Natasha could see the veins in his arm where the IV had been inserted. He sagged in the chair, chest heaving as he panted. His hair was in his face as he tilted his head to the side with a wicked smile. The Hydra scientists flicked on the UV lights, bathing the room in a purple glow. The effect was immediate, Bucky arched in his seat like a man set alight. His skin blistered, bursting open and splitting apart in the light. He howled, burning alive. It seemed like an eternity that they watched him struggle. Unease gripped Natasha as the lab techs finally flicked the lights off and began to reset him for another round. She swallowed hard, fingers curling into tight fists. Natasha couldn’t watch any longer and turned away, pacing from the room in disgust. This couldn’t continue.

Steve followed silently behind her and she took a moment to collect herself before turning to face him. She had all the information she needed— including confirmation that they were working on some kind of sunlight resistance and that Sam was alive down here. She didn’t have to pretend to be upset— she allowed herself to become emotional and when she turned to face Steve, she had tears in her eyes. 

“Sorry—” she said, “I thought I could handle it, I thought I could watch…” 

Steve cocked his head to the side as he surveyed her response. “Maybe that’s enough for today,” he said quietly. Natasha just nodded and he escorted her back. She had a chance to go over her mental map of the facility again as they left and headed back for the cabin. 

* * *

The walk back was quiet and Natasha thought about what she had learned very carefully. It was a long trip and very slow going. When she saw the cabin, relief flooded through her— they had arrived as the sun was going down. She made her way to the front door, but paused when she noticed Steve lingered on the edge of the treeline, watching her. She froze, worried that he had seen something in her that was suspicious.

“That wasn’t what I intended to show you,” he said quietly, “that’s not how I wanted that to go today.” 

Natasha put on a shy little smile to try and reassure him, but he cut her off before she could say anything. “The dream I had, I know how to make it real. I wasn’t just saying that, I meant it.” 

Natasha frowned and let go of the door handle, unease spreading through her like a fever. “How?” she asked quietly. 

“Hydra’s plan isn’t sustainable, not for long term cooperation.” He took a step closer to her, his expression serious. “Wouldn’t it be better to have someone like me, someone who can be on both sides? I can make sure humans are treated well, that the Old Ones treat them fairly.” 

His words struck Natasha and she went cold. He had promised that he would take what he needed and then he would leave them, but now he was thinking of staying? She felt like she would be sick. She knew Hydra had their hooks in him, but she didn’t know they went this deep. He was proposing working with them to bring about their new world order— all in the name of giving her a version of the world he thought she deserved. 

“What…” she felt flushed, unsteady. “What about the horde? What about those who resist? Steve, you can’t seriously be considering this!” 

But Steve frowned and looked at her with deep sorrow. He seemed sad that she still couldn’t understand him. 

“I’m trying to give us both what we want, Natasha,” he said. “I’m saving your kind and mine. I’m trying to give you peace. Never mind the horde— they’ve always been expendable. Hydra was never going to keep them after they achieved their goals. And… humanity can learn its place. I know they’ll understand once they see what I’m trying to do. I know they will…” 

A little laugh threatened to break from Natasha and she suppressed it. She should’ve noticed what they were doing to him earlier. They were poisoning him, filling his mind with rhetoric that was impossible to achieve. He didn’t understand that this idealism was pointless, that he was the only one who felt this way. It was a dream that would be impossible to achieve without brutal subjugation and it would start with the colonies. 

“I can see you’re upset,” he said when she never responded. “I know this will be hard to accept, but you can accept this… can’t you?” 

Natasha was frozen, watching him in the setting sun. The silence between them grew and she shook herself, trying to stay focused. “It’ll take time… but I think I can…” she lied. 

Steve’s relieved smile broke her heart. 

* * *

  
Natasha couldn’t sleep that night and Steve knew it. They talked some, mostly keeping the conversation on his memories, or a game of ‘Would You Rather’ every now and then. He did most of the talking and Natasha mostly just listened, adding in a response every now and then. He seemed to understand that he had upset her, that she had a lot to think about, and when giving her pieces of himself didn’t seem to alleviate that, he gave her space instead. At first light he slid out of bed and stretched. 

“It’s the last round of treatment today,” he said as he watched her in the grey morning light, “I’ll be back before dark.” 

Natasha smiled, but she was empty, numb. Everything was moving too fast and she barely had time to catch up. Today was going to be a big day for her as well. She sat up and kissed him deeply, her hands coming up to frame his face. 

“I’ll see you later,” she promised. 

When Steve left, she made herself wait until the bright light of the early morning sun shone under the crack beneath the door. As soon as it did, she braided her hair, put on her hunter jacket and pants, holstered her blades, grabbed some food and water and headed for the forest. 

Natasha was in a daze as she tracked down the trail markers she had left for herself a few days ago. She moved quickly, stumbling through the woods and fighting down the panic and anger and grief that threatened to stop her every step of the way. But she made herself keep going. Overhead the birds were singing, the trees towered and whispered, closing in around her and she covered her ears with a sharp breath. Instead she thought of Sam, waiting in the Hydra facility, of Clint, still infected out there somewhere, of the colonies of survivors awaiting their fate. She didn’t have time to waste being afraid and panicked and shellshocked. But it made her careless and she wasn’t looking where she was going and stumbled, feet catching on a branch. As she hit the ground, she felt the woods snap at her, catch her skin and tearing it open like teeth. When she pushed herself up, her palms were bright with blood. Natasha exhaled shakily and stared with fascination as the crimson welled like tears and wept down her skin. 

“Trouble in paradise, Red?” 

The voice startled her, fraying on her already raw last nerve. Natasha shot up, searching the tangle of trees for its source. Bucky emerged, moving between the maze of trees to join her. In the bright morning sun, Bucky was pale, his eyes filled with malice. Hydra’s sunlight serum was working, it seemed. The sight of him should fill her with— something… rage, fear, horror, hatred… but there was nothing left for her to feel. She just watched him numbly. He stepped closer, eyes tracing her blood as it tracked down her wrists and forearms.

“That was quite the fall,” he mused, watching her with his familiar cruel humour. She bristled to think he had come to visit her after she had watched his… treatment… yesterday. Was he here to see the effect this revelation had on her? His smile told her that he was. 

Natasha pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the agonizing pulse of her torn up flesh. She worked to control her breathing as he stepped a little closer, eyes drinking in her disheveled appearance with a little laugh. Bleeding in front of Steve was one thing, but in front of any other infected, it made her dangerously vulnerable. He looked hungry— like she was sport. Prey. But it went deeper than him wanting her blood. He really seemed to revel in her suffering, to want to inflict more anguish on her. It sent an involuntary chill through her and the hair on her neck stood on end. 

“What’re you up to?” he mused, “I assume you’re out here because Stevie broke your little heart, or whatever stupid horseshit you humans go in for.” 

Natasha’s lips parted and she stared at him, blood dripping from her fingertips. He eyed it like he was sorry to see it go to waste. But she didn’t respond. She was formulating. He was Hydra, he knew where they operated, he knew some of what they planned, but he was deemed lesser, not in their good graces… Her intense scrutiny made him frown a little. 

“Aw come on, I didn’t break you did I?” he pouted. “That’s boring…” 

When she stepped closer to him, invading his personal space, he looked surprised. “You want fun?” she asked, a hard edge to her voice, “I’ve got a proposition for you.” 

He appraised her coolly, a hint of an irritated smile on his face. “I’m not Steve, Red, you don’t get to jerk me around like some—” 

But Natasha reached up and smeared her bloody hand across his mouth and he stumbled back, eyes flashing with venom. He paused for a moment, locking eyes with her as his fingers came up to touch his face. His tongue darted out, licking away the blood staining his lips, eyes flickering at the taste. He laughed, the sound cruel and echoing as it was taken by the trees and swallowed whole. 

“Гавно, you really want to die, don’t you, Red?” he said quietly, clawed fingers flexed and ready to tear into her. 

“No,” she said, “no, but I need your help.” 

He smirked at her, eyes glinting with anger. “Why would I do that?” he asked, “Why should I help you do anything?”

His tone implied that he was asking what was in it for him. Natasha smirked back, eyes bright. “You want chaos, don’t you? Or do you like following orders and being Hydra’s plaything?”

Bucky laughed at her. “You know me well, Red,” he admitted, “I care about Hydra as much as I care about humans. ” 

Natasha stepped forward, raising her bloody hands to him. “Then help me close these wounds,” she said, “and take me to them.” 

He fell into amused silence as he pondered what she asked. “You want me to drink your blood—“

“Just enough to seal the wounds, yes.”

“—and then take you to Hydra headquarters?”

Natasha nodded solemnly, drawing a hard, disbelieving laugh from Bucky. He lunged for her and grabbed her hand to bring it closer to him. When he saw that she barely flinched, that she remained passive, his eyes narrowed. 

“You’re fuckin’ nuts,” he said, a thrill of awed excitement in his voice. “What are you going to do?”

“Don’t worry about me,” she said, pressing her bloody hand closer to his mouth, “all you need to do is get me there and watch. I promise you won’t be bored.”

Bucky chuckled, his breath cold against her palm before he pressed it to his mouth hungrily. His grip was far too tight— bruising even. But she didn’t care. If Steve couldn’t see the danger he put himself in by joining Hydra, if he refused to see what he was doing was wrong then she had to stop him. She had to save him from himself the only way she knew how.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow a new chapter! 
> 
> So last week was rough and this week was slightly less rough (but still rough), so I appreciate everyone's patience and understanding in waiting for this new update. I also really appreciate those of you who reached out to see how I was doing-- I'm doing fine now! I have some time off now and I might be updating at a different pace. I'm aiming for another post on Tuesday/Wednesday next week. 
> 
> Stay safe out there everyone! (wash your hands lots) and thank you as always for reading.
> 
> Special thank you to my beta reader, Junoro this week for helping me pull this together!


	23. These Violent Delights Have Violent Ends

Natasha continued on to the clearing she had discovered a few days ago with Bucky in tow. With a grim sense of purpose, she entered the armoured truck to retrieve the mortar rounds. She lifted them from the rusted case very carefully, making sure that she didn’t bump them or arm them accidentally. In weapons training they were shown how to use mortar rounds as makeshift grenades. It was incredibly dangerous— they had to be armed by pulling the safety pin and then slamming the tail of the round against something solid to simulate the force of the weapon firing. After that, the round would explode on impact when thrown. It wasn’t ideal, but it would give her a leg up over the infected.

Natasha loaded the rounds into a canvas bag she had packed and wrapped each with gauze and whatever else she could find to keep them from touching. She re-emerged from the truck— the sun bright and hot overhead. In the clearing Bucky stood, his face turned toward the sky. She noticed that his eyes were closed, his good hand shoved into his pocket, his empty coat sleeve fluttered in the breeze. Natasha paused warily at the sight. It was unnerving to see, especially coming from Bucky, but this likely was the first time in a long time that he had felt the sun on his skin. She had to wonder what that must feel like. 

“This better be worth wasting my time,” he said flatly, his eyes fluttering open to pierce her with an irritated stare. 

She swallowed, the mortar rounds heavy on her shoulder and passed him, heading for the woods back to the cabin. “It’ll be worth it,” she said. 

Bucky snorted behind her and followed. They walked in silence for a while as Natasha searched for the trail markers she had set and planned her next steps carefully. She went over the plan again in her mind— her objective was to destroy the labs above all else. Sam was an unexpected complication, but her priority was buying the colony survivors some time. Natasha sighed, her brow furrowing in concentration. Destroy the labs— then free Sam and the other hunters. After all of that, she could talk to Steve. 

He would be angry, she imagined, but she hoped he would forgive her. He had asked the same of her and she thought maybe they could after getting onto more even footing again after Hydra wasn’t influencing him and Shield wasn’t influencing her. She exhaled slowly, an uneasy knot forming in her stomach at the thought of Steve… He would be on his way there now, and she had to hurry. The wind whipped through the trees and she felt panic rise in her throat, sharp and acidic. She shook herself and pushed onward, doing her best to suppress her racing heart. 

Bucky must've noticed the shift in her scent because he nudged her and smiled cruelly. “Still scared of the woods?” he asked. “You’re really fucked up, huh?” 

Natasha bristled and turned away, content to ignore him. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his grin slip a little, apparently agitated she wasn’t playing his game. She shifted the heavy bag uncomfortably and pursed her lips. Bucky was her last choice of partner, but it wasn’t like she had many allies out here. The enemy of her enemy… From behind her, he became increasingly frustrated as he waited for her response. He wasn’t content to just let it alone though— that wasn’t his nature and Natasha flinched when he grasped her arm. 

“I want to make something clear,” he breathed, leaning in dangerously, “I’m not your pal. The second this stops being fun for me, I will kill you.” 

Natasha searched him, taking in his hateful expression, his cruel little smile, the iciness of his eyes. This was the most serious she had ever seen him and she shivered. 

“I don’t care if you’re Steve’s pet,” he continued, “I owe you a great deal of suffering for what you said to me a few days ago— you are on borrowed time. Entertain me.”

Natasha shrugged out of his grip and his eyes narrowed threateningly. She turned away and could feel the hatred radiate from him as she made her way toward the cabin. 

“Yeah, the woods still bother me,” she said quietly. She could feel him relax behind her as he fell into step at her side. There was no way she was giving him a window into her life beyond that. “But fucked up is relative— especially coming from someone like you.” 

Bucky laughed at her then, an unkind, harsh sound that echoed through the trees. “I don’t know where you get off, thinking you can talk to me like that,” he said. 

“Oh please, you’re not special,” she replied, turning to face him with a bitter smile, “I talk to all infected like that.” 

Bucky’s expression darkened into a wicked smile. “You spoke like that to Steve then? To Madame Hydra? I bet they loved that.” 

Natasha snorted at his comment. Of all the infected she had taunted, he was the only one who seemed to find it amusing. But she didn’t reply to his comment— they had stepped through the woods and into the clearing. The cabin stood, warm and inviting at its centre. It made her heart sink to see it. She swallowed and Bucky fell silent behind her, gauging her reaction with an air of amusement. 

“Rethinking your plan already?” he said, not understanding the effect this place had on her. How could he even begin to understand what all of this meant to her? He was an Old One— totally lacking empathy. 

Natasha inhaled deeply, eyes taking in the little building sadly. “There’s something I need to get,” she said softly as she made her way toward the cabin. 

Bucky sighed, annoyed with another setback already. “Don’t take too long,” he said, “I’ve got a short attention span and you don’t want me getting bored with you.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered as she marched toward the cabin. Bucky’s derisive laughter followed her all the way inside. 

Gently Natasha took in the familiar space one last time. It was quiet, dust motes danced in the sun beams that cut through the slats of the windows. This was her home— or at least, the nearest thing to it that she had. She had been happy here, however fleeting, however brief that was… She had built herself back up here, she had fallen in love here. Natasha strode to the supply trunk and opened it, digging for a few items she had organized in the past few days. She withdrew an empty glass bottle, some rags, and two small refill tins of kerosene for an oil lamp that she had never found. Natasha packed the items in her cargo pants and turned to the empty hearth. Steve would likely be a little over halfway to Hydra headquarters by now for his last round of treatment. Natasha sighed and lit the waiting logs in the hearth, watching the flames to lick and catch on the wood. 

She needed him to come back— she couldn’t have him there when she started her attack. She was doing this to save him, too, so she had to lure him away from Hydra in order to protect him from what she was about to do. The fire steadily grew in the hearth and Natasha kicked the burning logs onto the floor. They rolled under the bed and into the little pile of firewood by the hearth. They smoked and flickered, before the fire grew brighter, catching and consuming whatever they touched. 

She picked up a smouldering log, still alight on one end, and brought it to the mattress. The shredded cotton caught easily and the flames hungrily consumed it. Withdrawing the kerosene from her pouch, she doused the walls with a small amount and kicked the flaming mattress against the wall. The flames caught, crawling up the wall hungrily, eating and spreading and burning through the little space of the cabin. Without another glance back, Natasha left and shut the door behind her as smoke began to billow from the cabin as the fire inside began to spread. Bucky was grinning, a look of sadistic glee on his face. 

Natasha pursed her lips and ignored him. Let him think whatever he was going to think. She derived no pleasure from doing this. She sighed and watched the smoke thicken and darken as it spiralled into the peaceful blue of the sky like a stain. She hoped Steve would see the dark plume, she hoped he would smell the sharp acrid stench of the smoke and abandon his trip. She imagined the way he would race back here in alarm, the way he might search for her, the way he might think she was still inside. She hoped it would be enough to keep him away. 

“Is there another path we can take to Hydra?” she said approaching Bucky, “I don’t want to run into Steve.” 

Bucky nodded and gestured to the woods. “After you.” 

As they made their way to Hydra headquarters on this new path that Bucky had deemed a shortcut, Natasha did her best to keep up and fight down the panic that threatened to make her freeze. Where Steve was patient and supportive, Bucky was easily frustrated and irritable. He constantly prodded at her for his own amusement and it didn’t help Natasha’s anxiety. To her, they seemed hopelessly lost, and she couldn’t help but think Bucky might deliberately sabotage her plan or make her run into Steve just to see how she would react. The thought set her on edge, and she tried to breathe deeply. 

The sun beat down overhead, and she was sweating already. It had to be late morning at this point, and she would do anything for a little reassurance that she would even arrive before nightfall. She sighed and rubbed her temples nervously, her eyes fluttering shut briefly as she followed behind Bucky. She swallowed, desperately trying to centre herself and stay calm as he goaded her and taunted her. 

Bucky laughed for the thousandth time at her reaction, the sound grating on her nerves. She gritted her teeth and finally snapped at him. “Hey Winter Wolf, are you ever going to deliver on your promise to help, or is this part of your master plan to just annoy me to death?” she said. 

Natasha wasn’t sure what he would say to that. She was expecting him to snap at her or threaten her, but instead he frowned, his smile fading a little. 

“Bucky,” he corrected as he turned his attention to the forest in front of him. 

Natasha watched his back carefully. She had hit a sore spot, it seemed. She sighed and fought the urge to twist the knife and tease him the way he had mercilessly teased her for the past half hour. 

“Fine,” she said, “Bucky.” 

He didn’t look back at her at all— his reaction was carefully neutral, and it set Natasha on edge. He was hard for her to read, and only ever seemed to do anything if it brought him some level of sadistic pleasure. It would’ve been easy for him to lead her into a trap, maybe he still intended to… 

“Seriously though, why are you doing this? Why bother helping me?” 

Bucky was silent for a second before he snorted and threw her a glance over his shoulder. “I told you. I’m bored, I don’t care what happens to Hydra and you’ve promised me a show.” 

Natasha rolled her eyes a little and exhaled slowly. He descended into sullen, angry silence and she was relieved. He had finally shut the hell up and she could feel herself relax a little, now that he wasn’t constantly on her case, though she knew it would likely be short-lived. They walked in silence for a little while, wending through the trees in the warm mid-morning sun. When Bucky spoke again, his voice sliced through the silence. 

“He’s an idiot for trusting Hydra.” 

His declaration was so sudden that it took her a second to decipher that he was talking about Steve. 

“I liked him at first. He didn’t act like he was better than me. He actually thanked me, at first. He was grateful for my help.” 

He sounded terribly bitter and Natasha was unsure of his words. Was this another jab at her? Another way of baiting her into getting angry? But he seemed actually concerned. It gave Natasha pause and Bucky glanced at her, irritated. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Red. It doesn’t suit you.”

She frowned and he looked away. “It’s not what you think, either. Steve as a Hydra general would be so boring. I’d hate for him to think he could boss me around. I’d hate for him to be like Madame Hydra.” 

It was difficult for Natasha to figure out what he was feeling. The Old Ones felt things so shallowly, that he may very well have been genuine about what he said. Bucky’s baseline seemed to be bitter anger, hatred, and emptiness— like most of the infected. But like Madame Hydra, he seemed to have a desperate need for someone to want him. She shuddered to think of it. To him, Steve had once seemed like an ally, but he had called him lesser. He had brought her to watch him suffer… While Bucky was an Old One, he wasn’t treated like one. It must’ve eaten him alive to see her, a human, treated with more dignity and care and devotion than him. 

“Is that what they want?” she asked softly. “They want Steve to be a general?”

“Well a vacancy just opened up,” Bucky retorted, “Our great leader in all his red-faced glory isn’t doing so hot. Madame Hydra was supposed to take his place as Hydra Supreme, but I guess that plan’s gone to shit now thanks to you. Too bad you didn’t just let her kill you. Or turn you.”

Natasha’s heart raced at his words— she hated having this confirmation that Hydra wanted Steve in a leadership role, but she scoffed, trying to keep it light. “Yeah well, she was a real fucking bitch about it, so I said no.” 

Bucky snorted, but he studied the tangle of roots and leaves on the forest floor with a hard expression. He was serious. He was genuinely upset about this. Natasha clenched her jaw and studied the laces on her boots. 

“Is that why you came to tell me that Steve was with Hydra?” she asked warily, “because you knew he was in trouble?” 

Bucky was quiet, his expression unreadable. “Steve is steadfast. He’s unbearably determined. He doesn’t see what Hydra’s doing to him.” 

His non-answer made the knot of anger and anxiety in her tighten painfully and Natasha clenched her fists tightly. “Why him? Why can’t it be you or someone else? Why do they want him so badly?” 

Bucky laughed at that. “He’s their golden boy,” he said. “He’s smart, he’s ruthless when he wants to be. He’s an embodiment of Hydra’s ideal infected… Plus Red Skull likes the irony of it— Captain America building the world for Hydra to inherit. If they can shape him, manipulate him into becoming Hydra’s leader…can you imagine?” 

His words chilled her to her core. She had a sense that Steve was more than he appeared to be during their Hydra visit the other day, but now Bucky seemed to confirm it. They were grooming Steve for a larger role— one that they convinced him would be necessary to make her happy, to make the world a better place. Despite his vision for coexistence, Steve would be the fist of Hydra. He would eradicate any human resistance. She knew that he would. He would destroy everything. 

“And I’m only useful as their test subject, as their weapon.” Bucky said with a rueful smile, “They don’t want me.” 

There was a lot of loneliness in those words, Natasha realized. She didn’t want to feel sorry for him. He didn’t deserve her pity and she could never bring herself to like him, especially after everything he had done, but he seemed to care about Steve in his own way— even if it was selfishly motivated, and that was enough for her. 

Bucky shot her an irritated glance, clearly not liking the expression she had on her face. She grimaced and turned to watch the sky behind them, seeing the dark plume rising high into the air. She hoped that Steve would be on his way back. He didn’t need to see her destroy his vision of a benevolent dictatorship.

Natasha figured it was another twenty-five minutes or so before they arrived back at the derelict facade of Hydra headquarters. Immediately, her stomach dropped, and she paused, her eyes narrowing as she surveyed the overgrown building looming in the centre of the forest. Bucky stepped aside, an easy smile on his face. 

“Before you get started—” 

But Natasha cut him off. “I won’t count on you for anything,” she said flatly. 

He smirked, his eyes flashing angrily. “Good. Don’t. I’m here to watch— the second you go down, the second you get hurt, the show’s over…” 

“I get it,” she said. He would kill her. 

His smirk widened and he chuckled. “You’re up, Red,” he said. “Show us what you’ve got.” 

He couldn’t disguise the excited edge of cruelty in his voice and Natasha shook herself and focused. She knew that the horde was just inside as the first line of defense. The place seemed relatively unguarded, as the rest of Hydra was likely positioned closer to the colonies. She had to assume that the top brass would be receiving the sunlight cure first, but they likely wouldn’t have administered much of it if they just successfully tested it on Bucky yesterday. She exhaled slowly and shifted the items on her back. Methodically, she prepped the lighter and filled the empty bottle with kerosene and stuffed it with a rag before she eyed the compound with a final, determined glance.

She had done this with Clint a hundred times before— a smoke out. She knew the horde was waiting, dormant, inside the base and had to deal with them first. Natasha circled around to the door in the back, keeping her distance. From what she could figure, this was the only open entrance. Bucky followed, watching her from the shade with a cruel smile. He was interested to see how she was approaching this problem. But Natasha had thought this out as much as she could. Eight mortar rounds.

She took out the first two and eyed her target. She pulled the pin and smacked the round hard against the tree to arm it and threw it as hard as she could at the crumbling roof of the base. It sailed through the air in a perfect arc and hit the roof. It exploded on impact, cutting through the serene morning air and sending birds flying from their roosts in the trees. The roof caved, and the sunlight spilled in through the crater. The screams were immediate, the horde came to life, and Natasha could hear them writhe and claw over one another like insects as the sunlight began to burn them alive. She quickly removed the pin and armed the second mortar round with a smack and threw it in after the first. The building shook, and the horde shrieked. Natasha fumbled; withdrawing her lighter and setting the Molotov alight, she threw it at the open entrance just as the first infected burst through. 

Flame erupted through the compound, baptizing any infected that tried to escape. They escaped and crushed and trampled over each other in droves, burning in the sun until they caught fire. Their numbers began to choke the exit point as they scrambled and clamoured to escape. Six mortar rounds left. Natasha armed the next and hurled it into the writhing mass of infected. They were blown apart on impact in a gory, burning mess. The entrance caved completely, raining down debris and concrete onto the remaining infected as they screeched and writhed, crushing them. 

From behind her, Bucky laughed in delight, but Natasha paid him no mind. She had to hurry. The Old Ones in the basement lab would be arming for a counter-strike and she didn’t know how many of them had sunlight resistance at this point. No other horde infected ran for the entrance, so she carefully packed her remaining mortar rounds and withdrew her axe. Natasha ran for the smoking ruin, scrambling over the carnage and into the annex. Through the smoke and dust and debris, she made out a horde infected shrieking and reaching for her and she swung her blade up and split its jaw. Its skin burst apart, its muscles visible in its face as it screamed and writhed in the sunlight before it staggered back into the darkness. 

From her position on top of the crumbled wreckage, Natasha armed the next mortar round and threw it into the dark recesses of the annex. The explosion shook the ground and she nearly lost her footing. The horde hiding in the shadows were blown apart, debris and limbs and carnage splattered into the light. Part of the floor collapsed into the basement below, raining debris into the lab. Natasha’s ears rang and she blinked hard, searching the darkness. When Bucky jumped up beside her, she raised her blade in alarm, ready to kill him, but he just smiled at her. 

“Oh bravo, Red,” he said, surveying the slaughter with a gleam in his eye. 

Natasha didn’t say anything. She wasn’t enjoying this; this wasn’t a game to her. She pushed onward, stepping over debris and bodies. From the entrance, it was a straight shot through the annex, she recited, then a turn to the right and through a set of double doors… She made her way through the din, eyes searching for a sign of danger, but it was hard to see in the dust and debris that swirled and choked the annex. She didn’t spot the horde infected until it was too late, it came charging at her, shrieking furiously, claws extended. Before she could react, Bucky intervened, slashing at it with its claws and tearing its throat open so wide, its head nearly rolled from its body. It fell into a crashing heap on the floor. Behind him, the other horde infected shifted in the gloom, but didn’t approach, their eyes glowing in the low lighting. Natasha panted, her shocked gaze flicking to Bucky as he turned to her with a savage smile. 

“I’m not done watching you yet,” he said with a shrug. 

She frowned. While she was grateful for the save, he was the least reliable partner she could have. Natasha swiped the dust and sweat from her brow and refocused her attention. She pushed forward, finding the double doors and descended into the stairwell cautiously, journeying down into the basement of the building. She could hear panicked sounds of struggle as the lab technicians and other personnel raced to save whatever they could. They had operated so long undetected, they were alarmed that this was possible. Natasha smirked— that had always been a fatal flaw of the Old Ones, their arrogance. She scrambled for the next mortar round, pulled the pin and smacked in on the wall. At the bottom of the stairwell she could see Old Ones heading up and she dropped the mortar round down the middle of the staircase, crouched and covered her ears. 

The explosion rocked the ground beneath her and Natasha gritted her teeth. Bucky leaned over the rail and surveyed the damage below with a laugh. Peeking over the rail, Natasha saw the entrance was cleared, the Old Ones blown apart. Some struggled and writhed, their limbs blown off as they tried to crawl away. Four rounds remaining. She flew down the stairs, axe in hand, Bucky close behind. When she reached the bottom, she quickly shot a look around before turning her attention to the surviving infected on the floor, raising her axe to finish the job. A sudden shove from behind sent her stumbling into the lab wing and she whirled to shoot an angry look at Bucky. He smiled, his face twisted into a cruel, sadistic expression that made Natasha’s hair stand on end. She gripped her axe tighter, unsure of what he was going to do. But he turned his attention to the infected lab technician crawling away on his belly. 

“Hello, Doc,” he said, “we match now, I see.” 

Bucky ground his heel over the infected man’s missing arm with a little laugh. His face twisted into a jeering smile as the man squirmed and screamed beneath him. “You’ve done a lot to me over the years,” he breathed, becoming deadly serious, “I intend to pay you back for that.” 

Natasha pried her gaze away from him. So this is what he had come for, just as much as watching her tear Hydra apart. She didn’t have time for this, and she turned to continue down the hall. Behind her, the lab technician’s tortured screams followed her as she rushed ahead. Rooms were partially destroyed and crushed where the floor above had collapsed, and Natasha could see Old Ones pinned and crushed beneath. At least that took care of some of the labs. She tightened her grip on her axe and surged ahead. It was on the left, she remembered. The place they had tested the sunlight cure on Bucky. The other labs had to be nearby. 

Natasha passed window after window of the medical rooms, labs, recovery beds and a familiar shout cut through her focus and pulled her attention to one of the rooms on her right. Through the glass, Natasha spotted Sam strapped to a gurney, tubes inserted into his arm. A glass collection flask held about a pint of his blood as it streamed from his body. They must have abandoned him when the chaos started. He looked sickly and thin, and Natasha took a quick glance down the hallway before she burst into the room. It seemed Steve had made good on his promise to move Sam to more comfortable accommodations. 

Sam gave her a relieved smile as she rushed into the room. “I heard the explosions from the floor above,” he said as she began fumbling with the restraints. “You made quite the entrance, these infected assholes are scrambling like headless chickens.” 

Natasha shot him the tiniest of smiles as she freed his hand and gave him her axe. Sam immediately began working on the other restraint and she turned back to the door to keep any attackers out. She was worried Bucky might follow her in here and there was no guarantee that he’d keep Sam alive— especially if he knew that she cared about him. 

Behind her, Sam grunted, and pulled the needle from his arm. A steady stream of blood gushed from the vein and Natasha quickly helped him apply pressure. 

“My top right pants pocket has first aid,” she said calmly. 

Sam nodded and fumbled for her kit. He felt a bit fevered, his complexion dulled and ashy in the sterile lighting of the recovery room. His cheeks were sunken, his lips dry and cracked, he was in no condition to fight… Sam withdrew the kit and Natasha wrapped his arm while he watched the door as steadily as he could. Natasha shot him a glance— he seemed a bit woozy. 

“What’s the plan?” he said quietly. From down the hall the infected shrieked and scampered, collecting their notes and documents. A fire had broken out in one of the rooms, and smoke began to curl its way through the halls. 

“Hydra had created a serum to make the infected immune to sunlight,” she said, tying off Sam’s arm tightly. He shot her a horrified look, and she withdrew her knife. “Down the hall, left-hand side, there’s a set of double doors marked ‘supply’. It’s where other prisoners are held.” 

Sam shakily pushed himself off the bed— he was unsteady. It was likely that he hadn’t done much walking in the three weeks he was here, and having his blood consistently drained made him weak. 

“I need you to free those prisoners,” she said. “I can get you to the doors, but I’m torching their labs.” 

Sam looked like he might protest, but she squeezed his good arm gently. “We need to make it out of here for this to count. You’re in no shape to fight, leave that to me.” 

He nodded and they stumbled from the room. The hallway was thick with smoke now and she could barely make out Bucky, still by the stairwell all the way at the end of the hall. She drew a shaky breath and pushed onward. They passed one of the lab rooms, the infected inside scrambling and racing to retrieve their notes and research. It filled her with hatred to see, and she withdrew a mortar round. Sam’s eyes widened at the sight.

“Where—” 

Natasha silently handed him two, pressing them carefully into his hand. “Doesn’t matter— Get going,” she said, “I’ll catch up.” 

Natasha armed the round with a smack as Sam stumbled forward down the hall. Natasha kicked the doors open, the lab techs looking up in alarm. Their eyes met for a moment— theirs wide in horror, hers narrowed in determination. She tossed the round in, trying to arc it up high enough for her to dive out of the way and behind the wall. She could see them scramble for it as she dove to the floor, hands barely covering her ears. The room erupted, the glass windows shattering outward, the explosion raining dust from the ceiling. The lights flickered, and Natasha’s ears rang. 

Down the hall, she could see Sam had reached the double doors. He raised his axe threateningly as some infected sprinted passed, but they didn’t attack. They sprinted for the stairwell where Bucky was waiting. Natasha couldn’t be bothered to see if he owed them some payback as well… They’d have to contend with the sunlight if they made it out of the basement. Sam made eye contact with her before he disappeared through the doors. Natasha smiled— for the first time in a long time she felt it. Hope. 

She scrambled to her feet; from behind her, more horde infected entered the lab wing, rushing in like a swarm. She sprinted, the gathering smoke burning in her throat and lungs as she stopped at the supply doors. She burst through, and saw Sam undoing the latch to one of the holding cell doors from the outside, struggling with the heavy deadbolt. It was a rotating lock latched from the outside and Natasha ran over to help him. They grunted and pried the door open, revealing the pale and sickly hunter strapped to the hard table inside. He immediately got to work untying her and taking the IV needle out of her arm. Beside the chair a blood bag hung, partially filled. 

“I’ve got it from here, Nat,” Sam said with a ghost of a smile. 

She grinned back at him, her heart pounding in her ears. She shot a quick glance down the hallway at the double doors as a flurry of infected ran past. Sam freed the woman strapped to the table— she wobbled and sagged in Sam’s arms. Behind her, the doors burst open and a horde infected screeched. It must’ve smelled the blood they were harvesting from these prisoners. Natasha charged into the hallway to meet it as it raced for her. She anticipated its lunge forward and used its momentum to throw it to the floor. It squirmed and shrieked and clawed, nearly catching her as it scrambled to its feet. Her knife was for close quarters only, and it wasn’t giving her a chance to get in close. She held her knife tightly, desperately trying to track its next move when her axe hurled through the air and buried itself in the infected creature’s face. The distraction was enough and Natasha struck, lashing out to slash the creature’s neck. 

It choked and squirmed and she plunged her knife into its heart deeply. She sat back briefly before shooting a look at Sam, who stood panting in the holding cell. Beyond the double doors, more infected screamed and shrieked in the hall, making the hair on her neck stand on end.

“Thanks,” she said as she picked up the blade again. 

“Any time.” 

She handed Sam back her axe— he might need the extra reach in his condition. 

“I’ll keep them off your back,” she said, fishing the last mortar round from her bag. “Focus on getting the rest of your team out of here. If we get separated, head for the colonies. I’ll meet you there.”

Sam gave her a dry little smile. “See you on the other side, Nat,” he said. 

She smiled and took off through the double doors. The halls were filled with smoke and she cautiously peeked around the corner. She could hear the scream of the horde as they raced further down the halls, apparently revelling in the chaos. They seemed to have found something else to draw their attention for now, and Natasha nervously wondered if they were being reorganized by one of the Old Ones. She unzipped her jacket a little and pulled her under layer over her mouth and nose to try and keep the smoke away and crouched lower, the mortar round heavy in her clammy hand. 

Taking a brief glance to her left, something seemed amiss. Natasha noticed the recovery room the red-faced infected had been in out of the corner of her eye. The bed was empty, the IV dripping blood in a puddle on the floor… Alarm rose in her, but before she could move, she was tackled from the side, the breath instantly knocked from her lungs as she crashed into a heap on the floor. The mortar round flew from her grasp and rolled away. Natasha gasped, barely able to get her bearings before she was gripped by her jacket and thrown further down the hall. She tumbled, rolling with a cry as she struggled to keep hold of her knife. Getting to her knees, Natasha slashed blindly through the smoke at the infected in front of her, slicing open its thigh as it pursued her. She scrambled, getting to her feet and came face to face with the Red Skull. 

His eyes were deep set in his blood-red face, his teeth stretched into a sneer. He radiated murderous energy that made goosebumps rush down Natasha’s arms. 

“Ms. Romanoff,” he said, his scratchy voice barely cutting through the chaos around them. “We finally meet.” 

Despite his frail appearance, he was strong. Natasha readjusted the grip on her blade, standing at the ready. Red Skull gave her a jeering smile before he lunged at her, claws extended. Natasha barely dodged back, his talons sweeping the air by her face. He seized her and threw her painfully to the floor. Her teeth clacked painfully when she struck the floor, the blade still firmly in her grip. If it was the horde, they would’ve leaned in to tear her throat out, but Red Skull pinned her, his claws slashing down at her. Natasha barely moved in time and he just nicked her face, bursting the skin open. Hot blood coursed down her cheek and into her hairline. 

Fighting through the fear, Natasha squirmed, eliciting a wide smile from the infected man looming above her. He seemed to relish her struggles. From down the hall, fire erupted in one of the labs, blowing out doors and sending parts of the ceiling raining down by the stairwell. Natasha’s hearing cut out for a moment. Above her, Red Skull darted a glance to the commotion and with a furious cry, Natasha bucked him from her, scrambling and backpedaling to try and rejoin Sam. Red Skull immediately grabbed for her and she snapped the heel of her boot into the Red Skull’s teeth, jerking his head back as she tried to regain her footing. He howled and she swung her blade up, slicing his face open in an ugly gash as she got to her feet. But the Red Skull gnashed his teeth and recovered quickly, lunging at her and knocking her off balance. He dragged her into the empty recovery room. 

Natasha fought against his grip, stabbing her blade wildly into his leg to try and stop him. She readjusted her grip as he dragged her and drove the knife deep into his thigh, aiming for his femoral artery. He hissed, and she was sent sailing into the far wall, her head snapping painfully against the concrete. Woozily, Natasha pushed herself to sit, anticipating his next move, but he kept his distance, apparently needing a moment to recover. Blood gushed down his leg, pooling by his feet. Hatefully, he paced by the door as another explosion rocked the base and the glass vibrated. Natasha hoped that Sam had the sense not to come back for her. She was doing this for him— the hunters with him, the colonies still under threat. 

“I have heard much about you, human,” he sneered. “You have been a thorn in our side for a while now. This opportunity is fortuitous— it spares me from having you dispatched some other way.” 

Natasha made herself stand, her shoulders and back aching, blood running down her cheek. Her knife was slick with blood and she held it painfully tight. She couldn’t rush in. He was weaker than Madame Hydra, it seemed. Much slower and more cautious, but he was deadly. He looked at her like he dared her to try it. 

“Do you think Steve would stay, then? If you killed me, you really think he’d stick around, become Hydra Supreme?” 

He frowned, his expression irritated and the gash in his cheek oozed open. “Steven’s attachment to you has proven a nuisance. But your childish love for him will destroy you,” Red Skull promised. “Just as it has allowed us to manipulate him. It didn’t take much convincing to have him join us. He understands what he is, he knows he belongs with his kind. He has already begun to see that humanity is obsolete. If you are lucky— if he is _ kind _— he will turn you.” 

“I’d rather die,” she hissed. 

A slow smile spread across his face. “That will be his decision.” 

Red Skull paced, tracking his blood across the floor in a rusty smear. His wounds were slowly recovering. She was stalling for time at this point. She needed to find a weak point, to get him to make a mistake before she was outnumbered. 

“Steven may hesitate to change you, but it is only a matter of time before your fragility, your humanity, becomes the thing he can no longer stand about you. After all, it was your weakness that led him to leave you. If you had been stronger, infallible, _ perfected _, he would have stayed. He would not have felt the need to protect you from his natural self. He would not have come to me.” 

Natasha gritted her teeth, anger twisting her insides violently, sharpening her vision until he was all she could focus on. She couldn’t let him get a rise out of her. The fact that he hadn’t tried to kill her meant that she had really weakened him. She fought down the rage that threatened to shake her apart. Gripping her blade painfully tight in her scarred hands, she smiled hatefully. 

“Perfection,” she scoffed, staring him down, “Is that what you call it? You don’t seem so perfect to me.” 

Red Skull growled, his teeth bared, the gash in his face oozing dark brown, rusty blood into his teeth. “I don’t need to justify myself to a vile, inferior little human. The infection chooses its hosts— those who are worthy ascend to a higher level of being…” 

Natasha watched him carefully, looking for something to provoke him. He snapped at her and she held her blade up between them. The room became a little more clear as she shook off the impact of being thrown around like a rag doll. 

“But it didn’t choose you, did it?” she said softly, making a show of taking in his emaciated, horrifying appearance. “Clearly, it didn’t.” 

Red Skull lunged and Natasha sidestepped, barely dodging out of the way. She slashed his side, as she dove away, putting distance between them. Turning her back on him would be a mistake— he would have her choking on her blood before she made it to the hallway. Red Skull howled, his fingers clutching his side as he turned to stare at her over his shoulder. He didn’t move, only smiled wider as he watched her with such venom, such utter contempt. He radiated murderous intent, terrible hatred that appealed to such a primal part of her, that she hesitated. She felt if she attacked him, he would destroy her, leaving nothing but a bloody, unrecognizable, eviscerated heap. He turned and shoved the bed and IV out of the way, sending them crashing across the room. 

“I made it choose me,” he said, “I deserve to stand at the top. This is _ my _ vision. My dream. That I would be one of the lesser?” He laughed, the sound harsh and echoing, and Natasha’s skin erupted in goosebumps. “I made it choose me.”

Natasha snorted— she had found his weak spot. That must be why he was so sickly, so strange looking. He wasn’t one of the genetically chosen and made himself into an Old One by other means. 

“I will make my vision a reality,” he promised, “you, your hunter friends, they will not stop that. Nothing will stop that.” 

From down the hall, the infected shrieked and glass shattered as the fire spread through the labs. She eyed Red Skull, the grip on her blade tightening. The world around her was pandemonium. The building trembled again, distantly and Natasha had to wonder if that was Sam setting off one of the mortar rounds. But cutting through the chaos she heard something she recognized. 

“Natasha!”

Her gaze briefly snapped to the sound— that was Steve’s voice. Her heart raced. Despite his frail appearance, Red Skull was fast. In the brief, split second that she became distracted, he lunged at her, catching her by the throat. Natasha choked, struggling in his grip but she reacted immediately— she plunged her knife upward, stabbing it between his ribs and into his lung. She just missed the heart, and he let go. She collapsed with a gasp, and scrambled backward. Red Skull wheezed, blood flecking from the corners of his mouth and dribbling down his chin, his eyes blowing wide with rage. Her knife was still stuck firmly in his chest. 

Natasha pushed herself into the hall, searching, hoping to maybe find her dropped mortar round. She just made it to the doorway when Red Skull grasped her wrist and held her fast. He squeezed, and the bones in her wrist gave under the pressure, and with a sickening crunch, Red Skull broke her wrist. Natasha screamed and writhed and he leaned in close, his voice barely registering over the pain. 

“Perhaps you are right,” he mused, “killing you would be a mistake.” 

He released her and she gasped and crawled backward. Terrible, white-hot pain radiated up her arm. Above her, Red Skull slowly withdrew her blade from his chest and tossed it to the floor. He appraised her for a moment and Natasha struggled; she could see the mortar round through the smoke just down the hall from her. She lunged for it, but Red Skull stomped her back, forcing the air from her lungs. She wheezed, and he knelt by her side. Reaching down, he grasped her ribs, sinking his fingers painfully beneath her flesh. Natasha screamed then, arching as he reached under her rib cage. Red Skull’s smile widened as he watched Natasha twist in pain. He pressed harder, digging his fingers against her bones, grinding until she cried out desperately. A dull snap released a hot burst of pain through her and her vision went white. 

Natasha was vaguely aware that Red Skull stepped around her, that he was talking, but she couldn’t focus. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes as she gasped, collapsing limply to the tiled floor with a cry. She struggled to catch her breath, her lungs painfully expanding against her shattered ribs. She tried to kneel, or stand, or have even a modicum of dignity, but she weakly turned herself over onto her stomach and just trembled, her head planted on the ground, mouth open in a wordless scream. Tears flowed hot and fast and she gagged, willing herself not to vomit from the blinding pain. She couldn’t move when Red Skull approached. She couldn’t even gather herself enough to breathe. 

“I will return you to Steven,” he mused. “This will be good for him to see, I think.”

He jerked her upright by her hair and Natasha screamed, her broken ribs threatening to burst from her skin. “He is growing to hate this weakness in you,” he continued. “He loved you for it once, but we will teach him how wrong he is. We will show him how fragile you are, how sickeningly weak. He will be devastated to learn what you have done, I imagine. That you chose to try and kill yourself in this manner. Given time, I think he will see that the only choice for you is death, or starting you anew…” 

Natasha heard her name called again, and Red Skull dropped her unceremoniously on the ground. She could only whimper in a heap on the floor. She knew she was finished. She knew she had failed. She coughed weakly, barely able to breathe, and spat blood on the floor. Her rib must’ve punctured her lung. Natasha gritted her teeth, her hands curled into tight fists as angry tears tracked down her face. Even if she survived, her fighting days were done. 

She thought of Sam and Clint, Shield, the colony survivors, everyone counting on her. What chance would they have if she was dead? She was out of options. She barely registered the commotion in the room. She could hear Steve yelling, snarling angrily. She wanted to tell him she was sorry, that she wasn’t strong enough, that she loved him. She wanted him to know. When she tried to say it, to call for him, all that came out was a weak little hiss. She couldn’t get past the ‘s’ in his name and she wheezed, trying to collect herself as blood gurgled and oozed from her mouth. 

She was vaguely aware that someone loomed over her, but couldn’t even lift her head enough to look at him. She was roughly flipped onto her back and she cried out in agony. Bucky knelt by her side with a wicked grin. She gasped and struggled for breath, feeling her body start to go into shock. He was fuzzy; the lights overhead were too bright, giving him a strange halo in the smoke. She tilted her gaze upward and caught a glimpse of Steve. He was outnumbered, and the Old Ones finally coordinated the horde enough to counterattack. 

“Too bad, Red,” Bucky mused, “that was a hell of a show you put on. But we’re gonna catch your little hunter pals, we’ll destroy your colony, we’ll take Steve.” 

She choked, blood flecking onto her cheeks as she eyed him hatefully. He was telling her all the things she feared just to see what she’d do. But it filled her with a hot, black rage. She wasn’t done. She wasn’t done… Bucky dabbed the blood on her face with his finger and licked it away with a smile. 

“I thought maybe you’d be different,” his voice sounded distant, like he spoke underwater, and Natasha struggled to focus. She wasn’t done. Not yet. “But I guess you’re destined to die like all your kind— on your back, like a pathetic animal.” 

Behind him, Natasha could see Steve, furious and fighting. Claws extended, teeth bared. Other Old Ones and horde infected had rushed into the room and slashed at him, tearing his skin open. Natasha turned her gaze back to Bucky, who watched the commotion with a cruel laugh. 

“I doubt they’ll keep him around after this either,” he said, “Or maybe this will just drive him over the edge. I’d kinda like to see that. But it’s too bad… I was starting to like the two of you.” 

The hatred and rage boiled over, escaping Natasha in an animalistic cry. Bucky reached down, his hand closing over her throat and Natasha squirmed, struggling to get closer. He frowned a little. “Aw, don’t tell me you want me to kill you…” He seemed a little disappointed by the notion. “I wanted you to resist this. I had hoped to hear you beg.” 

Natasha gave a strangled cry, coughing and gasping and fighting for breath through the pain. She was filled with a frenzied, hysterical rage. She wasn’t strong enough. She had to buy them more time. She had to buy herself more time… Bucky grinned when she squirmed weakly, and smothered her cries with his hand. His skin was cold against her mouth and she choked and grunted and he watched her with an air of amusement. There was nothing she could do now to stop this. He seemed like he wanted her to watch a little before he killed her. He wanted her to stop fighting, to understand that she had lost. Steve was screaming her name and tears tracked down her cheeks. There was fierce growling and snarling, but Natasha could only look up at Bucky with terrible, all consuming rage. She wished she could kill him. 

Instead she took his hand into her mouth and bit down hard. Bucky snarled, hand curling around her face in anger, talons puncturing painful cuts in her skin, but she didn’t let go. She bit harder and harder until her eyes leaked tears and she broke the skin and the bitter, iron taste of his blood filled her mouth. Bucky locked eyes with her, face twisted in anger and confusion. Her instinct was to spit it out— it was caustic, it was poison. But instead, she drank, and his grip on her relaxed a little as he realized what she was doing. She whimpered, eyes glazing over as the world around her began to fade. 

“Oh, Natasha,” she heard Bucky say, the familiar edge of dangerous amusement in his voice, “You really are fuckin’ nuts.” 

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha an update! What a wild time we live in right now. I hope you are all staying safe and healthy. I'll be aiming to have the new chapter out maybe this Saturday/Sunday.  
Enjoy!


	24. The First Avenger

Natasha was awash with sensation. Everything hurt, her skin, hair follicles, her nail beds— _ everything _. As the searing pain crept through her, she could feel it changing her, healing her. She felt her bruises disappear, her broken ribs begin to mend. She could breathe easier and drew a ragged breath, the blood clearing from her lungs. She arched, her body contorting painfully and she was taken by the darkness, stars bursting in her periphery. Distantly, she knew she was screaming, her voice was raw, her throat coated in blood. When her world came back into focus, her vision had sharpened, a whole new dimension of senses opened to her. Colours burst across her vision, more vivid and alive than she had ever seen. She smelled more keenly than she had before. She could smell Steve’s familiar scent, the sharp antiseptic of medical instruments, the metallic scent of blood, the acrid, cloying sting of smoke. She could feel the infection tear through her fevered body like ice through her veins. As it spread, she began to cool, and she welcomed the sensation. She felt stronger than she ever had. 

Natasha panted and shook her head, trying to clear the confusing swirl of sensory overload. She pushed herself to her knees, her vision dangerously sharp and focused on the blood dripping from her mouth onto the floor. A new overpowering sense burned through her, working its way up her chest. This awful thing taking over, forcing her to focus on one thing. Blood. She wanted blood. She squeezed her eyes shut. _ Stay focused… You need to stay focused, _ she chided. It was overwhelming, everything at once was too bright and loud. She felt like she would burst. She sat up with a gasp, filling her lungs deeply with the stale, smoky air of the basement. Time slipped from her. It could have been minutes, or hours since she had started this transformation. _ Stay focused _… She breathed deeply, the hunger in her built like an awful pressure and escaped from her as a low, guttural growl. 

Sharply, across the room she saw… Steve… that’s right. Steve. He was subdued, struggling in the grip of three Old Ones. Three other infected lay in a bloody heap against the walls, their chests caved in. More horde infected flooded the hallway, waiting and snapping and anticipating. The hunger rose in her sharply and she whined. She wanted something so undefinable. Her body vibrated with that terrible empty longing. Red Skull paced the room, discussing something with Steve that she no longer cared about. _ You don’t have much time. _ She reminded herself. This part of her was becoming quieter. Something else began to take its place, but it didn’t bother her. Not anymore. _ Remember, _ it pleaded, _ remember what you have to do. _Natasha pushed herself to her feet and stumbled forward.

She had forgotten about the one armed infected behind her until he grabbed her arm and she whirled on him with a growl. 

His expression made the empty hunger inside her twist in her chest. He looked at her like she was a revelation. He seemed to promise her what she needed. She didn’t know what it was, but he would give it to her. 

“What’s the plan, doll?” he asked, his voice a dangerous purr that curled behind her eyelids.

She snarled, her lungs expanding wonderfully against her skin. She couldn’t answer, but her face stretched into a savage, toothy smile. 

“I can’t wait,” he said, a wicked smile on his lips. 

He turned and charged the infected holding Steve, slashing at them with a snarl and Steve broke free. The one-armed infected and Steve took on the rest of the horde and the remaining Old Ones. She was so tempted to join him. It was an overpowering pull that threatened to undo her. She wanted nothing more than to release that blood. To quell this ravenous desire for destruction building inside her like a wildfire. Instead, she focused on the other man in the room— the sallow, red faced one. He whirled and snarled at her and she returned the expression, adding a shriek of rage. She charged him, but he was ready, deflecting her and sending her crashing into the wall. The contact barely registered with her. 

He rushed her, but she dove away, quicker than she ever thought herself capable of being. Her muscles flexed and stretched under her skin and she clenched and uncurled her fist experimentally in amazement. The red-faced infected yanked his arm from the wall and swiftly lunged, his claws sweeping for her. She stepped back effortlessly, easily tracking his movements. He was slow. Frail. It made her laugh, the hunger in her craving more of this. She wanted this sensation. It caught her off-guard when his claws caught her face, tearing into her skin and painting the walls with her blood. It suddenly made sense what she had been longing for— the empty pit in her chest began to fill. Violence. 

All of her nerve endings were alive, her senses in overdrive. She wanted this. It filled her with such joy that the laughter burst from her, uncontrollable and bright. She was tackled to the floor and her head smashed violently into the concrete. Those stars burst in her periphery again and she convulsed, a hot searing pain crawling through her veins like a swarm of insects. Her vision went black and she felt something unfamiliar— metallic and sharp and unpleasant. Panic rose in her and when she came back to reality, the red-faced infected had her pinned. He beat her, his fist connected with her face and she whipped her head to the side. Pain barely registered, it was nothing to her now. Each hit gave her that feeling she craved and she smiled.

_ You’re running out of time. _The faint voice reminded her. It made her frown, and Natasha spat blood, feeling her cheekbone crack as the man above her drove his fist into her face. She refocused and snapped at him, catching his wrist with her teeth and shredding his flesh. He snarled and she growled in return, using this newfound strength and rage and rancor to throw him from her. He flew from her and crashed to the floor. Natasha leapt to her feet, panting and surveying the man as he got up. Her heart throbbed in her chest, loud and distracting, pumping the infection through her. 

She gritted her teeth and arched, fighting through her body’s painful contortion with a hoarse cry. She inhaled sharply, her body becoming cold. It made her feel untouchable. Harder than diamond. A strange image flashed in the back of her mind; she lay in a field under the dark blanket of night, watching the stars fall from the sky. Beside her a man with eyes like stars held her. In that moment she felt a deep pull, a sense of purpose that she couldn’t define. She could hear her name on his lips— a breath of consonants, a rush of vowels. She had the sense that this was larger than her. She had people to protect. She had people she loved.

_ Shield Hunter, _ she reminded herself. _ Natasha Romanoff. _

That made her smile, though for a reason she couldn’t explain. Furiously, she charged the skeletal figure in front of her, sinking her talons deep into his arms until she felt the tips of her claws touch. She was faster than him. She was getting faster as the minutes ticked by. She heard him cry out as she tackled him to the floor. He was weaker, somehow, more fragile than her. When she easily crushed the bones in his arm, she snarled savagely. _ Kill him, Natasha. _ She reminded herself. _ End it. _Natasha pulled her hand up and planted it firmly against the man’s face to trap him against the concrete, but he snapped at her, his teeth gnashing and tearing. He caught her hand in his mouth and sank his teeth so deep into her ring finger that he severed it at the knuckle with a wet pop. 

She cried out and sunk her talons into his eye, making him scream. Ignoring the dull ache, she pressed him harder, her bloody missing finger oozing and smearing blood all over his face as they struggled. She didn’t care. With her free hand she reached up and squeezed his jaw shut. He writhed and thrashed wildly, almost bucking her from him, but she crushed harder and harder until she felt the bones creak and then crunch in her grip. His face caved in and his good eye went wide as he gargled and choked and gave muffled cries against her hand. 

She leaned in close, her eyes meeting his as he looked desperately up at her. Speech became hard to manage. Words were escaping from her, thoughts became more fleeting. 

But she was able to speak, to reassure him, satisfying that small part of her that lingered. 

“Weak…” she rasped, as he gave her a hateful, spiteful stare. “_ Inferior _…” 

His eyes grew wide with rage and he thrashed and managed to throw her back. He sat up, the remains of his jaw oozing blood and teeth and fragments of bone. His arm was shattered and hung limply at his side. Natasha cocked her head to the side, enjoying the sight. Something in her, faintly, distantly, pleaded with her to finish this. _ Stop toying with him _. 

It was hard to focus on what the voice told her to do. She wanted to toy with him. She wanted him to suffer. But she obliged and swiftly kicked him square in the chest, knocking him on the flat of his back with a cry. Planting her foot on his chest, she dug her heel against his breastbone until it cracked. It was music. He wheezed, beady eyes blowing wide. His face twisted into a snarl and he sunk his claws into her leg with his remaining hand, desperately, hatefully tearing into her. She laughed at that and straddled him, sinking to her knees to pin him and relishing in his horrified expression. She flexed her claws and met his gaze before she plunged them deep into his shattered and caved chest. He screamed and arched beneath her, but she was stronger than him now. This was inevitable. 

Natasha pried his sternum apart, snapping the bones in his chest to expose his blackened heart. His scream filled her with such unbridled joy. With a final glance at him, she saw that he barely registered her there anymore, he squirmed and clawed and fought for the final few seconds of his life before Natasha reached into his chest and crushed his heart. Blood oozed from his nose, the remains of a scream died in his throat. He had a moment to register he was dying, she had killed him, before he stilled, eyes rolling back into his head. 

It was finally over. Natasha could feel her whole world vibrate. Nothing made sense now— the emptiness began to return, to fill her with a terrible nothingness that ate her alive and filled her with such a bitter ache. She wanted more. Unsatisfied, she shook the man pinned beneath her. When he didn’t move, and didn't give her any further reaction, she slashed him again and again, turning his face and chest into unrecognizable meat. She stopped when she felt someone grasp her wrist. She snarled, turning on the blonde man behind her, holding her back. He was like her— he had the same smell, the same cold skin. He seemed so familiar. 

“Natasha…” he said, his voice so quiet and strained as his eyes searched hers, brows turned up, devastated. 

Natasha bristled at the sound of her name. A meaningless collection of sounds should have no effect on her. It was faint, but she felt like she knew him. Something inside her still lingered, still pulled at her. She could barely manage speech anymore, taking ragged, snarling breaths as the infection curled around her mind, stealing away whatever was left of her. But a tiny flicker of recognition told her his name.

“St-Steve… I— ” she managed. 

She felt there was a lot to say to him, but she couldn’t remember what it was anymore. There was an irritating sound nagging her— a dull thudding in her ears— that made it hard to focus. It reverberated and pounded in her chest. It hurt— a feeling of ache, of inexplicable sadness tore through her. She wanted him to make it stop, but she didn’t know how to ask him anymore. Instead she shuddered, a strangled growl escaping from her; her head pounded and whatever thoughts she had left fled. Her world spun out of control, her skin painful and overstimulated and she curled in on herself, trembling. She examined her shaking fingers, slick with blood, the veins in her wrists and forearms blackened. The terrible desire in her rose and experimentally raised her fingers and licked at the blood. Bitter. With a gasp she felt herself contort painfully, a final, unpleasant burst of stars bled into her vision. She felt the painful beating stop in her chest and she sighed shakily. It was calming. The silence was a comfort to her heightened senses.

At last, she was at peace. 

* * *

Steve heard the moment that Natasha died. He listened to her heartbeat slow until it stopped. He saw the light in her eyes fade, the spark that made her who she was disappear. He couldn’t move, or speak— he could only watch the infected woman in front of him in shock. 

It was like a nightmare… He reached out to touch her, to confirm that this was really happening. Her skin was cold to the touch, her scent dull and muddied and sickened. He exhaled shakily, his thumb smoothing across her skin and she stiffened, unsure of what to make of him. She snarled and shrugged from his grip, turning to wander down the hall.

This was his fault. He had driven her to this. 

An empty sob broke from his chest, before it morphed into a strange laugh. What else could he do? He thought he understood all the emotions he was capable of experiencing. He had felt grief before, but not like this. He was so shattered, so numb. He had only wanted to be worthy of her, but he never was, and with devastating clarity, realized that he never could be. So he laughed. He got it now— he understood it now. 

Steve buried his face in his hands, trying to collect himself and stop this hideous laughter. Smoke curled in the hallway, the air was heavy with the stench of blood. Behind him, Bucky was picking off the last of the horde, finishing them with brutal efficiency. He shot a brief glance at Steve, his eyes glinting with amusement as he crushed the skull of a horde infected against the wall. Rage twisted his insides, making him seethe and burn as he watched Bucky. He snarled at him, his fingers flexed dangerously. 

Bucky’s gaze drifted to Steve’s hand for a moment, his eyes narrowing in displeasure. 

“Now what, Hydra Supreme?” he asked, his tone flat and uninterested.

But Steve could see it on his face— he was disappointed the fight was over. Disappointed that he looked at him with such vitriol. Steve frowned, the snarl on his face widening. He had nothing left, now. Nothing except Hydra. 

Before he could answer, footsteps approached, and his attention was drawn to the group of Old Ones and horde reinforcements making their way toward them. There were about seven of them in total, surveying the crumbling base with shocked and angry expressions. The horde snapped and snarled behind them, staying in close ranks as they mewled softly, hungering for blood. They must’ve been securing resources and prioritizing the lab personnel’s evacuation before coming down here to assist. It’s what he would’ve done… 

The Old One in charge froze at the scene of the carnage, his eyes narrowing. When he saw Red Skull, lying in a nearly unrecognizable heap, his lips parted in shock. 

“What—” 

Steve was vaguely aware that the other man was addressing him. Looking to him for answers. He was their leader, now. Steve straightened and turned to face them, suppressing the anger swirling in him. 

“Report,” he found himself saying. 

The other man snapped to attention, eyeing him warily. “Most of the research appears to have been destroyed,” he replied. “We can’t put out the word to the generals laying siege to the colonies yet. Not until nightfall— though they may have seen the smoke.” 

“And the blood supply? Did they escape?” 

The man clenched his jaw painfully tight. “Yes, sir. It seems that most of them got away.”

Steve pursed his lips and nodded, an overwhelming numbness overtaking him. 

“The sunlight serum?” Steve said, “Were we able to recover that?” 

“No sir, but some of the lab technicians and head scientists have survived that human bitch’s assault. They’re waiting upstairs for evac come nightfall. We’ll be able to remake the serum. It’s only a matter of time.” 

“They’re upstairs now? None of them escaped?” 

The Old One frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. “Yes, sir, they’re awaiting your orders.” 

“Good.” 

Steve lunged, his claws tearing into the Old One’s throat. He never even had time to scream. Before the others could move, Steve was throwing the first man’s body into them, knocking them down. The horde growled and paced, waiting for direction. There was a strange moment of shock that Steve used to his advantage, he charged forward, letting the untethered rage in him boil over. That dark part of him rose dangerously, a thrill of excitement— sharp and fierce and exquisite, twisted his face into a smile. Steve gave himself to it willingly, letting it take over everything that he was until he was nothing more than a savage, wild thing bent on destruction. His claws shredded flesh, cleaved skin from bone, burst open blood vessels and veins and muscles like they were nothing. Old Ones fell to his fury, eviscerated, crushed, destroyed. He wanted them to be unrecognizable. He wanted to erase them. But the initial surprise was lost, and he was outnumbered. 

One of the Old Ones caught him with a kick, and he felt his spine protest painfully. The bones threatened to break and he crashed to the floor with a furious snarl. Immediately the other infected was on him, thrusting her claws into his stomach. Steve arched and cried out, swiping at her and just grazing her throat. She leapt away and seethed, eyeing him hatefully, her claws flexed. Her lips moved— she spoke, but it didn’t register. Steve vibrated with rage, barely keeping himself present.

Around him, bodies writhed and crushed in a swirl of movement. He spotted Natasha’s red hair as she snapped and howled, throwing herself into the horde as she chased the thirst for violence and destruction he knew she must be feeling. It ate him alive to see her like that. He didn’t want to look at her. The infected woman charged him again, but Bucky jumped in from behind him, catching her with a brutal punch to the chest. The crack of her sternum sent a shiver of excitement through him. The blood pooled under his hand where he held his stomach— she almost gutted him. But Steve got to his feet, letting the rage build in him like a pressure in his chest. He panted, his vision dangerously focused as Bucky turned to him with a look of sadistic glee. 

“What the fuck, Steve?” he breathed. “What’s your plan?”

It was hard for him to speak, he was so filled with berserk, murderous rage. “Kill them all,” he growled, charging into the fray and smashing an infected’s cheek bone in with his fist. “Kill every last one of these fuckers!” 

Bucky’s response barely registered. “With pleasure…” 

Steve tore into the horde, losing time as he drew blood, painted the walls, the ceiling, the floor with it. Smoke curled and choked, making it hard to see. He was bleeding, his bones were cracked, skin torn open. It barely registered. But he stopped when he heard Natasha’s shrill shriek. An infected had caught her, biting into her neck and forcing her head backward. Her face was contorted in pain, in confusion as she struggled to comprehend what was happening to her. Steve charged forward, pulling the infected from Natasha so violently its shoulder popped from its socket. The Old One in his grasp barely had a moment to register the murderous intent radiating from him before he lunged forward and bit into the man’s throat. 

Steve felt him freeze in his grasp, a strained cry vibrated through his vocal chords and over his tongue. He imagined he could taste it— his fear, his utter despair. Steve hoped he was begging for his life. He bit down, feeling his windpipe give under his teeth with a pleasing crunch. Blood flooded into his mouth, bitter and unsatisfying and Steve pulled away with a primal snarl. The infected man floundered, blood gargling and flecking from his lips. Steve smashed his fist into the wound, breaking the man’s neck. He slumped to the floor and Steve stepped over him. He didn’t want to look at Natasha, but he couldn’t help it. Her silver eyes were dull and she watched him blankly, awaiting guidance. 

The rage rose in him again and he turned back to the infected man squirming at his feet. He smashed his fist into the man’s face in a furious assault. His face broke apart, piece by bloody piece until he was nothing but meat. Beside him Natasha screeched, nearly dancing with glee. He led by example and she understood his orders loud and clear. Her eyes flashed, her teeth bared as she shrieked and howled and tore, begging for more. Begging to feel that thrill of inflicting suffering. In his rage, he couldn’t feel broken, or sickened, or devastated that she was reduced to this. Instead he smiled savagely at the sound— sadistic desire curled around his mind, slithering behind his eyelids like a parasite. She threw herself at the first infected that caught her attention, her claws shredding and tearing. Steve didn’t have time to react before an Old One rushed in, the horde infected at her back. Natasha was overrun and he briefly saw Bucky charge in after her. 

The infected woman struck him and he felt his jaw break. A hot, sharp burst of pain exploded across his periphery like a supernova and he laughed. It gave him focus. With a terrible snarl, he drove his clawed fingers into her solar plexus, gutting her. She wheezed and he pressed further, his hand disappearing into her cold flesh. He met her eyes, blown wide with hatred and confusion. She couldn’t understand why he had done this. He felt her heart, small and cold in his grasp. He crushed it, watching the light fade from her eyes. She never would. 

Steve threw her body in a heap on the floor. He panted, surveying the carnage. Behind him Bucky and Natasha snarled and snapped at the remaining infected. The horde was becoming disorganized as the Old Ones who led them were slain. Steve turned to face them. There weren’t many left. Some of them stood unmoving, watching him with cowed, sheepish expressions, obedient and docile. It was over. He gritted his teeth in bitter disappointment. The rage still twisted and squirmed in him, taking hold of his heart. He wasn’t done yet, he still had something left to do. 

He shouldered past the horde infected and gripped Bucky by the arm before he could tear into the subdued horde in front of him. Bucky whirled on him, his face set in a terrible snarl. He frowned a little when he saw him and Steve had to wonder what his expression must look like. 

“We’re done,” he said quietly. “There’s more upstairs.” 

At the sound of his harsh voice, Natasha stilled, turning to face him. She was docile, entranced, awaiting instruction. Steve’s world sharpened, threatening to shake apart with the slow beating of his heart. He quickly looked away and watched Bucky for a response instead. 

A slow smile spread across Bucky’s face and he shrugged out of Steve’s grasp. 

“After you, supreme leader,” he said mockingly. 

Steve snarled, getting right in his face before he pushed past him and headed for the stairwell, Bucky falling into step behind him. They marched past the swirl of smoke as the fire grew in the labs. It was hard for him to see and he covered his mouth with his hand as they made their way up, past the debris and the butchery. As they made their way to the smoky stairwell, a soft growl caught his attention. Natasha followed along with a handful of other horde infected. She watched him blankly, passively, and he turned away in anger. He couldn’t think about the way she made him feel right now. He had a job to do. 

They made their way into the annex, the smoke filtered out through the collapsed ceiling. The late afternoon sun shone high overhead, peeking through the smoke and shining brightly in the annex. It was easier to breathe up here. The lab technicians and scientists waited in the shadows, talking in hushed tones. When they spotted him approaching, they appeared relieved. 

“What’s going on down there?” one of them asked. 

“The situation has been contained,” Steve replied. “Is this all of you?” 

He counted five in total. One of the lab technicians nodded. “Just us,” he said. Steve nodded and approached, putting on a wry smile. “We will rebuild from this,” the man continued, “cut off one head, two more will take its place.” 

Steve felt the anger rise in his chest, threatening to escape him in a low growl. “This is good news,” he said as he squeezed the man’s shoulder. 

The man met his eye with a sinister smile. “Hail Hydra,” he said. 

Anger, hot and black and acidic, burst through him in a dangerous, intoxicating rush. He smiled, his grip tightening on the man’s arm. “Hail Hydra,” Steve replied. 

He crushed the man’s arm in his grasp, shattering the bone before he threw him into the light of the sun, watching him scream and flounder. With a short, savage laugh, Bucky sauntered after him to finish the job. The other lab technicians shot Steve horrified, confused looks. But he would let his claws do the talking. He slashed the first, striking so violently that his neck broke and he dropped to the floor with a strangled cry. Steve whirled on the second, punching through her sternum and rupturing her heart. The third tried to run past him, but Natasha and the horde pounced on her, tearing her apart with their claws. The last one backed away, eyes pleading, hands raised. 

“I don’t understand,” she said.

Steve had no explanation that would make sense to her. It was simple. He had been foolish to think that humanity could live subjugated under Hydra’s rule. Natasha proved that with her last stand. If she was the best of humanity, if she was kind and empathetic and selfless and lovely, but couldn’t accept and learn to live under Hydra, then how was any of her kind going to accept it? He was naive— selfish. It was easy to see now. If he wanted her back, if he wanted to save her and honour her, then Hydra had to die. They all had to die. 

Steve lashed out, face set in an anguished snarl. He slashed the Old One’s stomach open, sending her stumbling backward into the light. She seared and screeched, and Steve ended her suffering with a punch through her heart. She stilled and Steve sagged to the ground, his breathing ragged. Behind him Bucky finished off any of the lab technicians that he hadn’t killed in his initial strike, making them squirm and beg before he ended them. That hideous laughter threatened to bubble from him again. The rage and delicious hunger and desire for destruction still swirled in him and Steve rested his forehead on his knees, trying to breathe through it. He was so empty as he came down from this terrible euphoria, left only to face what he had done. He laughed and ran a hand through his hair, letting the sun warm his skin in a searing, tingling sensation that he had grown to tolerate. He wondered if it felt different for humans. Natasha always seemed like she liked the feeling of it. He had been meaning to ask her what it felt like, but he supposed he would never know now. 

He turned to face Bucky. Behind him, the infected lay in a wasted pile. Natasha wandered through the bodies, seemingly devastated that none of them moved anymore. She was covered in blood, but she seemed to be healing from whatever damage she had taken. She watched Bucky blankly, making soft, mewling growls as he kicked over the body of one of the scientists and stomped it, a smile plastered on his face. The remaining horde infected lingered, blinking at Bucky with uncertainty. He laughed and kicked one, sending it stumbling into the dark. 

“Fuck off,” he said. One by one the horde filtered away, hiding in the shadows further in the base. Natasha stayed though. The order didn’t apply to her. 

As he watched her, Steve noticed her finger was missing, though the wound had closed now. He swallowed hard. She had sacrificed so much. Following Bucky’s example, Natasha stomped on an infected, crushing its skull beneath her foot like a child jumping on a leaf in autumn. She seemed to relish the way the blood pooled beneath her boot and tilted her head curiously when she couldn’t feel the way the bone and brains squelched between her toes like it did for Bucky. He never wanted this for her. He never wanted her to become like this… 

Bucky sighed contented now that the fight was over. There was nothing left for them to destroy for the time being. The base crumbled around them, a thick, black plume of smoke rose into the sky as the basement was consumed by the fires in the labs. 

“Fuck me, that was the most fun I’ve had in ages,” Bucky said as he joined Steve in the sun. Natasha lingered in the shadows behind them, moving to join them. But she recoiled in the bright light of the sun and retreated back into the shadows. A blank expression took over her features as she stood, dazed and vacant now that there was no more stimulus to drive her. Steve could tell she wanted to go dormant, her movements became sluggish. Her eyes fluttered shut, but she whined. She was thirsty. It made Steve ache to see her like this— he knew full well what that feeling was. He swallowed hard and Bucky got his attention again when he nudged him. 

“I’ve been wanting to do that for ages,” he remarked. “All these self-important pricks were starting to piss me off. Hydra’s chosen, the inheritors of the Earth, the superior, the perfected, what a fucking joke.” 

Steve just grimaced, watching Natasha with an anguished expression. Inhaling sharply, he stood, his jaw clenched tightly as he ruminated, his troubled thoughts clearly written in his expression. Bucky frowned and looked at him as he wiped the blood from his face. His gaze slid to Natasha briefly and Steve bristled. She didn’t deserve to be looked at like that. 

“What, are you worried she’s not going to be like us?” he asked, not understanding why Steve was so upset when he looked at her. “I think she’s got the makings of an Old One in her. She sure was vicious.”

Steve frowned, his heart painful and heavy in his chest. He watched Natasha with such heartbreak. It was unbearable. She couldn’t be like this… He remembered the way she looked at him when she died. She had been scared. She was scared of becoming this. 

Bucky snorted and got up. “I know what we need,” he said. “She’s going to be such a terror when she wakes up, right Red?” 

But Natasha couldn’t respond, she had no capacity for speech. She didn’t even recognize that she was being spoken to. Bucky pulled her close, holding her against his side. Natasha twisted and growled, snapping viciously at him. “See, she loves it!” he said, roughly jostling her. He turned and snarled back, shoving her from him and she returned to picking through the corpses with a sense of mindless automation. Steve watched her lick the blood from her hands and whined when it gave her no satisfaction. Without another word, Bucky smirked and disappeared into the smoky basement below. 

Slowly Steve approached Natasha as she wandered through the bodies again. He took her hand, drawing her attention to him. She bared her teeth, and he smoothed the hair from her face and tucked it behind her ear. 

“Natasha,” he said softly, his thumb sweeping across her cheek. 

She became withdrawn, looking through him. She was so cold. She would never again flush and burn with heat, her skin would never turn that lovely shade of pink as she worked in the sun. Her scent would never become fragrant or sweet when he kissed her. Her eyes wouldn’t sparkle when she laughed. He pulled Natasha in close and wrapped his arms tightly around her, his face dipping into her hair. She was stiff in his arms, her teeth sharp against his shoulder and she growled threateningly. She seemed uncertain of this contact. It wouldn’t make any sense to her, not anymore… 

He was terrified of forgetting these things about her. Terrified that he would lose sight of the things he had fallen in love with. He knew he was dying. He had tried to ignore it for a long time now, he was getting better, it seemed. But his heart was slowly stopping, and he would return to that monster he had been before. It’s what he always was. This humanity in him was a gift, a skin he slipped into. But he was a pretender, he suppressed and hid the worst parts of himself, believing he could be better. He had been returning to this all along, becoming this again and he would drag Natasha down with him. What would he have her do then? How might he corrupt her further than he already had? She would murder and feed and destroy and he would encourage her. A thrill rose him in at the thought. It was becoming harder to set aside those desires now. If he didn’t fix her soon, he never would. 

“You deserved so much better,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m sorry, Natasha.” 

Natasha snarled and he let her go with a sad smile, his hands framing her face. 

“Heads up,” Bucky said as he returned from the basement, tossing a blood bag at Steve. He caught it, but it was partially opened and it spilled over his hand onto the floor. There was a brief pause, blood dripping from Steve’s hands as he held the supply collection bag in horrified shock. He immediately recognized AB-’s scent— Natasha’s friend. 

Her response was instant, her eyes lit up and she fell to her knees with a desperate wail to lick the blood from the ground at his feet. Steve shot Bucky a furious look and knelt to give Natasha the bag. She greedily took it from him, blood smearing across her face and hands in her haste to tear into it. It was still lukewarm and Steve eyed it hungrily. The dark part of him— the part he hated— loved seeing her like this. It was hard to suppress the terrible feeling rising in him. It possessed him, curling and pulling him, begging him to stop this buzzing, incessant _ need _ threatening to choke him, to destroy him from the inside out. Bucky laughed cruelly and joined them, tearing into his own bag and tapping Steve on the shoulder with another. Steve took it, eyeing it with bitter hatred before he bit into it, inhaling the scent deeply. The blood was rich, vibrant, _ sweet _. It was cloying and thick, and he savoured the way it coated his tongue and throat and he hummed, his eyes fluttering shut. 

Intrusive thoughts curled around his mind, begging him to forget this. It would be easier to just accept her like this. She was just as good like this. She was still here, it didn’t matter that she was like this. Maybe it was better this way… Steve frowned at the thought and lowered the bag. He didn’t know how much time he had left before those thoughts would become who he was. The part of him that loved her, the real her, was becoming quieter. He shook his head in an attempt to clear away this awful longing and turned to Natasha. Her bag was empty and she whined and licked at whatever was left. He was so heartbroken to see it and he focused on that feeling. If he gave himself over to that darkness, he’d lose her forever. 

Gently he pulled the bag away from Natasha. She whined and chased him, grabbing desperately to his hands and bringing the bag back to her mouth. But there was no more to be had and she grunted, her face coated in red. Steve smoothed the blood from her face, wiping it away. The gentle contact make her growl softly. He pulled away and her gaze flicked to his bloody fingers, with a soft whine. She was asking permission, deferring to his status as her superior. It made him sick. Gently, he offered his hand and she licked it, taking the digits into her mouth as she desperately sucked the blood from them. 

Bucky laughed, deeply, cruelly at the sight. He tossed his empty bag at her feet and she turned her attention to that instead. “That’s some girl you’ve got, Steve,” he said, nudging her shoulder with his foot. She snarled at him and hunched over the bag possessively. Steve bristled, anger rising in him at Bucky’s taunting, he shoved Bucky, snapping his teeth threateningly. 

“Don’t touch her,” he said. 

Bucky snorted derisively, hatred touching his features. They fell into angry silence, Steve turning over the moment the light slipped from her eyes again and again. He had to hold onto that. He had to remember that. Soon after feeding, Natasha became dormant, curling up and resting, her chest rising and falling shallowly. He knew she wouldn’t dream.

In the distance, thunder rumbled, long and low. He could smell the sharp ozone of rain heading toward them and frowned. It wouldn’t be long until nightfall now. The shadows were stretching, long and eerie in the annex. Beside him, Bucky’s eyes fluttered shut, a contented smirk on his face. Steve settled more comfortably next to Natasha and ran his fingers through her hair. He supposed he needed rest, too. He could feel it like a dull ache deep inside him. The three of them sat in silence as they waited for dark.

* * *

It was another hour or two before the sun went down. When night descended, the rain came with it. A flash of lightning in the distance lit up the night, stark white and blinding. Natasha stirred awake, coming alive again now that it was dark. She blinked, her eyes searching her surroundings blankly. Steve sighed and swept the hair from her face and she looked at him curiously. He guided her to stand, gently holding her hand. She bared her teeth. 

“What’s the plan Hydra Supreme?” Bucky said, standing with them. 

Steve bared his teeth in a grimace, bristling at the title. Bucky’s amused smile told him that he knew he hated to be called that, and just liked to watch him squirm. Steve inhaled sharply, trying not to let rage consume him so easily. 

“I’m taking her to the colonies,” he said softly. 

Bucky’s eyes instantly lit up. “You’re a goddamn monster, aren’t you? We gonna slaughter them all, too?” 

Steve just watched Natasha with a tense expression on his face. It was all he could think about. Shield had had a cure once. When Natasha injected him with it, it had worked on him a little— they had to have worked something since then. Even if Shield was gone now, they might still have it at the colonies. It was a desperate, faint hope. But it was all he had. He couldn't accept that the cure was destroyed along with Shield. They had to have something that would restore her. 

“They’re going to fix her. They have to fix her.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes dangerously. “What do you mean, ‘fix her’? She’s perfect.” 

But Steve shook his head; he couldn’t make him understand how precious she was. He couldn’t explain to him the light that was in her eyes, how warm she was, how kind she was. All of the qualities he had loved her for were gone. She was a husk. That’s all any of them were. He was quiet for a while and Bucky grew impatient with his silence.

"You had to know that it would never work with a human, Steve. I thought you wanted this. I thought you'd see this was the best thing for her. She's like us now.” 

But Steve didn't have a response for that. He just smiled softly. It wouldn't make sense to Bucky that Natasha was so much more than this creature she had become. 

“Don’t you get tired?” Steve said quietly. He had never known other infected before, but seeing them now, he had a sense that they were all the same as he was. Empty and meaningless. “Don’t you get tired of all of this anger? All of this emptiness?” Bucky’s expression darkened, his face twisting into a snarl. “I know you feel it, too Bucky. I think we all do.” 

“Fuck off, Steve,” he breathed. “We can change that. All we need is a little fun, a little chaos.” 

A dark part of him wanted that. He could feel it curl around his mind, twist his face into a smile. But he knew better. There was nothing that would ever fill this void. He had a taste of what it felt like to have that spark back. But it was with terrible anger that he realized now that it had been Steve’s— other Steve’s, _ better _ Steve. He had hated him for so long. He was afraid of him. Seeing Natasha now, he knew now more than ever that he was a shadow. He was a pale imitation of him. 

“You’ve been like this longer than me,” Steve said quietly, “in all of those years, were you ever satisfied? Did chasing that chaos ever help?” 

Bucky snarled at him, his face an ugly sneer. “Oh please, Steve!” His voice caught Natasha’s attention and she growled at the both of them. “You wouldn’t be spewing this shit if it wasn’t for that fucking humanity in you. You know you wouldn’t. Just let it die! There’s nothing wrong with the way we are!” 

Bucky couldn’t see it, and Steve laughed, heartbroken. Maybe he was right, but he could remember as well as Bucky could. There was nothing to them. They chased sensation, they searched for meaning, for purpose, but there was none. They would chase and search until the end of time and still never feel whole. Natasha didn’t deserve that… Bucky lashed out, slashing Steve’s face with a cry. Steve stumbled, pain slicing hot and dark through him in a cheap thrill of sensation. He longed for the fight, for violence. Bucky gripped him, his expression horrified.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he hissed. “You think you’re better than me? You think you’re better than her?” He shoved Steve hard and he crashed to the floor. 

“It’d be different!” he said. “Didn’t you feel it? Tearing apart everyone, destroying this place… I was… we were…” 

He didn’t seem to have the words to describe it, and Steve sat up, dabbing the blood from his cheek where Bucky’s claws had torn his flesh open. 

“You, me, and Red. It’d be different…” 

But Steve just laughed humourlessly. “You know what we are?” he asked softly, “We’re mistakes. We’re nothing. How long do you think it’d be before it didn’t mean anything anymore? How long until we’re back where we started? Another seventy years? Maybe we were meant to forget. At least then it didn’t hurt to feel this empty because we didn’t remember just how meaningless and hollow we were for all of these years.” Bucky’s eyes narrowed, seething in anger and Steve pressed, willing him to understand. “Didn’t you see it, watching Natasha? Did you see how alive she was, did you feel how bright, how full she was? She doesn’t deserve to be like this. She can’t be like this.”

“You’re so boring, Steve,” Bucky said quietly, “you’re boring me. You wanna fix Red? Fine. But she’s _ never _ gonna love you again after the shit you’ve pulled.”

Steve smiled sadly. It cut far deeper than anything he could do with his claws. Maybe that’s what love was. It wasn’t about him.

“That’s okay,” he said. 

When his taunting bluff didn’t work, Bucky shook his head in disgust. He was desperate, clearly not understanding Steve’s reasoning. “You can’t do this,” he said, “I’m not gonna let you ruin everything!” 

But Steve wasn’t going to give him a choice. He lunged, trapping his arm in his grip and squeezing until the bones broke. Bucky contorted in pain and struggled in his grasp. “You don’t get it,” he snarled, leaning in close. “You’ll never get it.” 

He threw Bucky to the floor, snapping his head painfully against the ground. Steve felt the anger rise through him again, taking over and he drove his fist into Bucky’s face until he was dazed and his mouth was bloody. He threw him against the crumbling wall so hard that it cracked, swaying dangerously. Steve charged forward, Bucky barely getting his arm up to block him, but he drove his fist into the cracked concrete behind him, splitting it apart. Steve brought the wall tumbling down onto Bucky, pinning him in the rubble. Bucky cried out, blood flecking from his lips as the debris crushed him. He wheezed, his breaths shallow as he struggled weakly beneath the rubble, eyeing Steve hatefully. 

“Please,” he said, blood dripping down his chin. Steve panted, wiping the blood from his cheek. He didn’t want to kill him, not really, but Natasha wasn’t going to be his plaything either. This was what he deserved.

“I have to save her.” Steve offered bluntly, “I have to try.” 

Bucky’s eyes blew wide with rage, his face contorting in pain. His mouth opened, but he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs to say anything. Taking Natasha’s hand, Steve led her into the storm.

“Steve!” 

He could hear Bucky’s pained cries follow him as they left the compound. 

“Don’t do this!” he pleaded, “Don’t leave me... Steve!” 

But Steve was resolved. He would’ve done anything for her once before. He had joined Hydra, he had betrayed her trust for what he thought was the greater good. But he was wrong. He squeezed Natasha’s hand and gave her a bright smile. Her silver eyes were blank as she appraised him sharply.

He had to fix this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well happy Sunday everyone! I hope you are all self-isolating and staying safe out there. I'm doing my part to maintain social distancing by working on this fic and giving people something to read lol. Seriously though, wash your hands lots! 
> 
> Next chapter should be out by Friday(ish) next week. We are approaching the end of the story soon (wah), but I've got some more things planned to do with this story coming up, so stay tuned! 
> 
> Thank you as always for reading!


	25. Alone With Everybody

That night as Steve led Natasha away from the burning remains of Hydra headquarters, Natasha came alive. She followed Steve in the dark, watching the pouring rain soak her skin, her clothes, her hair. She closed her eyes briefly to taste it and Steve squeezed her hand gently. She bristled at the rainwater in her mouth. Like most things that humans required, it tasted ashy, unpleasant, and the disgusted look on her face told him that she had just learned that for herself. It would’ve made him laugh if she wasn’t like this. If she could laugh with him, smile with him as she once had. Instead he gently pulled her along, trying to put as much distance between Hydra and them. The remaining generals had likely seen the plume of smoke and might be heading back here to investigate, especially when they stopped receiving word from Red Skull. But their journey away from Hydra was slow going, there were so many things for Natasha to experience that Steve wondered how she managed it all. But he couldn’t let up. The longer he delayed, the longer she would have to stay like this… so he pushed onward, taking her in the direction of the colonies. He wasn’t sure exactly where they were, but they would be easy enough to find— he had seen Hydra’s maps of the area and scenting out large numbers of humans wouldn’t be too difficult once the rain stopped. Near dawn, the sky lightened considerably and Steve searched for a place to lay low for the day. Natasha would need a safe place to go dormant soon. 

  
  


It was almost sunup when they stumbled into the remains of an old barn. The roof had long collapsed, but it would provide shelter for the day. Steve led her into the musty room. Everything had soaked through during the storm the night before. The roof dripped and leaked, the earth was wet and muddy. With a sigh, Steve guided Natasha to the darkest corner of the room and had her sit. He slid down next to her and began the long wait until nightfall. Natasha sat quietly for a while, staring vacantly at her feet. Steve shifted as he watched her. He had to wonder what she was thinking. He didn’t really remember his time as a horde infected, even after Hydra’s memory treatments. His memory didn’t start until after he began to emerge as an Old One… Natasha growled and tapped her feet together, the toes of her boots clicked dully and she tilted her head at the sound. She seemed a little frustrated and couldn’t express why, her face clouding over briefly and she watched her feet. Steve watched her carefully and looked down at his own bare feet. 

“Do you want me to take your boots off?” he said, understanding what she was upset about. 

Natasha still couldn’t register speech and didn’t understand that he was speaking to her. She wouldn’t be able to answer anyway. Steve unfurled and crawled toward her. Immediately her eyes shot to him, like she had forgotten he was there and he had surprised her. She bared her teeth, a low growl rising from her chest. But Steve just gently pulled the lace of her boot, untying it slowly. Natasha was tense and uneasy as she watched him, clearly not understanding what was happening. She must be suffering so much. She understood nothing, not her name, not gentleness or soft touches. He knew the thirst for blood and hunger for destruction was growing in her again— it was for him. He could feel the unbearable pressure of it deep inside him and he suppressed a snarl thinking about it. It didn’t matter that they had drank blood last night, it was always there. It could never be satisfied. And Natasha couldn’t control it as well as he could. He could see the tenseness in her eyes, the ravenous desire that would only get worse the longer she went without drinking. He condemned her to this. Steve didn’t know how to put her mind at ease, there was nothing he could give her or do for her and it killed him. He played with the end of Natasha’s bootlace thoughtfully. He didn’t know what else to do, so he began to speak. 

“There once was a warrior queen named Maria Morevna,” he began, “ She was fearsome in battle, leaving behind fallen hordes in her wake. But one day she met an evil man named Koschei the Deathless— a heartless, cruel, vengeful creature who had buried his heart long ago so that he would live forever. When they met, they fought and Maria escaped. But seeing Maria left him spellbound and Koschei began to see her more clearly. She was beautiful, kind in ways that others would not see or recognize.”

Natasha was still, and Steve wasn’t sure if she listened or not, but he continued anyway. She seemed to register that when he looked at her and spoke, that he was talking to her. Very carefully, he slid his hand up her calf and clasped behind her knee to shift her to face him a little better. Her brow furrowed in confusion— he knew it must be hard for her to understand gentleness, but he refused to give her anything less. She grunted softly, her gaze wide and wary as he worked the laces of her boot loose.

“But Maria captured him,” he said softly, his fingers sliding under the tight lacing one row at a time. “She kept him locked up for many years so that he would not inflict his misery on the rest of the world. In his captivity, Koschei became smitten with Maria. He had been so long without his heart that he became envious of hers. He was so struck by her, so captivated by her fire, her passion, her secret kindness that he thought he could take some of it for himself, that he could become like her if she would only stay with him.”

Carefully Steve began to tug her boot off. Natasha had trouble sitting still for that and lunged at him with a snarl. The pit of hunger, the desire for destruction rose in him and he fought it down, giving her a soft smile instead. Natasha bared her teeth threateningly and Steve slipped her boot off, then her sock and set her foot down in the damp earth. A shocked little breath escaped from Natasha and her gaze settled on her foot. 

“But Maria went off to war and Koschei was left alone,” Steve continued, watching his thumb as he gently traced over her ankle. “He was empty without her. Without the light, he realized how much nothingness he felt. How achingly hollow he was. He broke free from his prison to pursue her.”

He began to undo the laces of her other boot and Natasha sat still for him this time, her gaze still fixed on her toes as she curled them into the mud, trying to comprehend its texture and the feel of it beneath her feet. He smiled again as he continued, speaking softly, warmly. 

“Koschei found her again in the middle of a war. He stole her from the fight, leaving her men behind so that he could keep her for himself. He could pretend to be more than he was. For a while, he really believed it would work. She was safe from the fighting and the bloodshed, but she was sad. He never wanted her to be sad…” 

Steve paused, becoming a little withdrawn and Natasha tilted her head a little, seeming to notice that he had stopped talking. He glanced at her before turning his attention back to working the laces loose. “But he was selfish,” he said, unable to hide the bitterness in his voice. “Vile. He kept her until she was nearly extinguished. But he couldn’t understand that the tighter he held on, the more she slipped through his grasp. She couldn’t change her nature any more than he could change his. She broke free, fighting and thrashing against the things that imprisoned her until she shattered herself into a thousand little pieces…” 

He pulled her boot and sock from her and placed her other foot down, his hand skimming her calf briefly. He didn’t know how to end the story. He wanted to give her a happy ending, but the words wouldn’t come and he fell silent. Natasha pushed her feet into the earth, flexing and stretching them curiously. It seemed like a relief on her senses. Steve understood the feeling well— it was easier to balance, to perceive the position and movement of his body with bare feet. But more than that, he loved the strange sense of connection, the way the earth felt beneath his feet. He always suspected that other infected felt the same, especially when all of the Old Ones he had met were barefoot. 

“Is that better?” he asked.

She seemed to at least look at him now when she heard him speak. He couldn’t tell if that was encouraging or not. Truthfully, he never wanted her to become like him, to become an Old One. It was a horrifying thought, especially now that he remembered what he had been like before meeting her. They were all the same— wantonly violent, cruel, selfish, sadistic. He didn’t want that for her, Natasha was the farthest thing from that… But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to hear her voice again. Maybe that was just his selfish nature to want the things he knew he shouldn’t have. Steve swallowed hard and watched Natasha play in the mud. Bucky was right, he should have known, deep down that it couldn’t work with Natasha. She was everything that he could never be. But it was like a dream living with her, loving her… It felt like, for a moment, that he could have it all and he couldn’t stay away from her. He was so helplessly, selfishly in love with her and it had led her here. 

Steve hesitantly reached out and tucked the red flyaways behind Natasha’s ear. Her eyes narrowed a little, but she didn’t pull away. He smiled sadly, his thumb lingering on her cheek for a moment. He should’ve known better. Steve froze as that same dull, awful pit of existential dread he had felt yesterday opened like a wound inside him. It was a far deeper fear than anything he had felt before, but he had always known it was there… The knowledge that he was merely playing at being human, that for all his insistence that he was his own man, that he was separate from his human self, he wasn’t. His kindness, his love for her was a product of his humanity and as much as he fought against it, he was all along trying to be like Steve Rogers… It made him angry to think about. What sort of man was he before? A good man, Natasha had called him. Honourable, honest, noble… He thought he understood it— he could be those things too. He had convinced himself that it didn’t matter who he had been, but it did. Now more than ever it did. He had succumbed to his greed, his selfish desire, and lost everything he held dear. That was his nature as an infected. He was a cheap and distant reflection of someone that he had never truly understood and had dismissed as unequal. As much as he had tried, he couldn't escape the shadow Captain Rogers cast on his life. And now it was apparent that all the love he had, every moment that he felt so overwhelmingly full and happy and at peace came from a place that didn’t belong to him. Who was _ he _ when it came down to it? His answer was that truly, the person he fought so hard to become, was nothing. He was weak and inferior and all of the things that Natasha had fought against. If she had ever loved him at all, she had loved the humanity in him. She had loved the parts of him that he borrowed. She loved Steve Rogers. 

Steve sighed bitterly and pushed that line of thinking away for the time being. He couldn’t indulge himself in self pity, not now. But his sudden shift in demeanor made Natasha antsy and her gaze flitted to him, silver eyes wide and searching. It hurt so much, more than he felt he could bear and he forced himself to smile for her. To assure her that things would be alright. He had to believe that, too. But it hurt to look at her. A shade of his Natasha was there, he could see it in her inquisitive expression, the quirk of her full lips. Her skin was marked in all the same ways, but she was so pale. She would never blush again, never smile kindly again. That hurt the most. When she smiled at him for the first time, she had just finished cutting his hair. Her fingers tilted his chin up to look at her— her touch hot on his skin like a brand— and she smiled warmly at him. His heart had beat so fast that he was scared he was dying… But he knew then that he wanted to see her smile again. She was so unwaveringly bright and warm and kind and _ human _. Steve surveyed the way the freckles under her nose bled into her upper lip for what must’ve been the millionth time. She was still so breathtaking, but she was cold. His Natasha was gone. 

If he wanted to be a man worthy of her, worthy of carrying this heart— the heart of a good man— then he had to save her. Even if he was just a sham, he had to do that. 

Natasha shifted, her toes curling into the earth and settled back. Her stare became vacant as the world brightened around them and Steve could tell she was going to become dormant soon. It wasn’t like she could do much during the day— her body told her to shut down, there was no blood, no violence, and no darkness. She couldn’t resist that pull, not yet anyway… She blinked, watching him as if waiting for him to do something. He supposed he had been quite interesting— talking to her, touching her— she seemed to wait for him to do it again. So Steve moved a little closer, as close as he dared, and talked to her. 

“A long time ago there lived a merchant and his wife,” he said, voice soft and low. “They had a child, their only daughter, who was named Vasilisa…”

* * *

In the following two nights they travelled toward the survivor colony, Steve was careful to keep Natasha distracted as much as possible. The rain had let up, making it easier to try and track the scent of the compound. Natasha went dormant in the day time more easily now that the thirst was beginning to crawl and burn and consume her. It was fatiguing, all consuming and he could see the way it exhausted her, gripped her like a vice, squeezing and crushing until she couldn’t hold up anymore and had to rest. He hated that she fell dormant, but it was relief from the maddening thirst. He hoped she didn’t suffer then. But as the days passed, she became increasingly less inquisitive and curious as she grew more and more thirsty. Steve still spoke to her often, telling her stories and assuring her everything would be alright. Maybe he did it to assure himself. But she became less receptive to him, her eyes roamed the distance, her teeth bared as she made desperate, needy little whines. He knew she was trying to pick up a scent, a trace of something— anything that would satiate this terrible desire in her. It nearly broke him to see, but he had his own growing thirst to deal with and it was harder to control when he saw her so openly long to satisfy it. He had to keep himself under control for her sake and for the time being she still had enough sense and self preservation left not to run into the sunlight in search of blood, or to try and drink her own blood. Not yet, anyway. They had to be getting close… 

During the day Steve was able to leave her while she was dormant to travel ahead. It was on the third day that he caught the scent— it was faint, but it was _ strong _. Steve whipped his head in the direction the scent wafted from, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. Breathing deeply, he caught the acrid stench of gunpowder, smoke, and metal. But beneath that, was sweat, the savoury smell of old blood, and most deliciously— fear. The smell settled on the back of his tongue and for a brief moment, he imagined he could taste it… The hunger rose dangerously like a pressure in his abdomen, spreading and crawling through him like a disease. There must be a lot of them living there, a swarm of humanity, a swirling crush of people. They reeked. A growl rumbled through him, low and ravenous. He shook himself and swallowed hard, trying to clear the cloying scent from his mind and went back to sit with Natasha until dusk set in. They were close. 

Traveling with Natasha that night was difficult. She could smell the colony in the distance as well and began a desperate, blistering run toward the scent. Steve easily kept pace, but chasing down this scent awakened a dangerous thrill in him. He smiled savagely, following her lead. She trusted her senses, her vision sharp, her footing sure and purposeful. Dimly, it reminded him of his Natasha. She had been such a focused, capable fighter and he could see that in her still. She stopped when she lost the scent and Steve paused to see what she would do. She turned to him with a frustrated growl and he felt like he floated above his body when he watched her. He was aware that he chuckled, a cruel laugh bubbling from his chest. He was vaguely aware that he spoke.

“What’s wrong?” his voice sounded strange in his ears. 

Natasha snarled and turned away, her tongue slipping out to lick her lips in frustration. He knew she could taste it. She needed to face the direction of the breeze, to try and get the scent back. When he moved, it felt like he was in a dream. His head was a swirl of adrenaline and a tingling sense of dark and sadistic glee curled around his mind. He took her by the arm and when she snapped at him, he growled back. He caught the scent again and inhaled deeply, his lungs filling with the sweet balmy air. Natasha’s eyes grew wide and she followed his example. When she smelled it too, she let out a frenzied snarl and took off again. Watching her retreat, Steve erased the smile from his face. He covered his mouth with his hand in disgust as he fought to regain control of himself, to push down the wild desire for destruction that had taken over him. Slowly he followed, anger replacing whatever had possessed him before. He had been teaching her how to hunt. 

They arrived just before dawn. Natasha crashed through the woods and trees as she chased the scent. It grew more potent and she became frenzied. In the distance Steve could see the glow of fire and the bright white of floodlights filtering through the trees. Unease settled in him and he caught up to Natasha as she mindlessly snarled and ran for the colony. Steve grabbed her before she could exit the treeline and she turned on him, her mouth open in a terrible howl as she shrieked and snapped. 

“Natasha,” he pleaded. But she jerked in his grip, thrashing wildly. Her claws sliced the skin of his wrist open and he let go with a cry. She took off, running for the lights in the distance. Steve’s vision sharpened dangerously as the dark, hot anger bloomed inside him. He took off after her, chasing her down as she drew the attention of the guards. With a dangerous snarl, Steve tackled her and pinned her to the ground, his eyes wide with rage. Natasha resisted him for a brief moment and he squeezed her arms, his teeth bared in a vicious expression. She shrank back from him then, becoming docile and vacant as she made soft, mewling whimpers as if pleading with him to spare her. Steve exhaled sharply, his brow furrowed. The anger swirled in him, his heart thudding dully in his ears as he watched her. Beneath the anger, sorrow gnawed at him, eating away at his insides. He hated himself for doing this, for being like this. He meant to wait for morning to approach, but Natasha had forced his hand. 

Steve faced down the compound angrily. It was a walled fort, craters marked the perimeter where mortar rounds and landmines had gone off. Corpses of the horde littered the field, blown apart by explosions, burned alive by siege weapons on the ramparts. In the early morning light, he could see infected, still moving, tangled in barbed wire that lined the compound and the ex-shaped barricades preventing attackers from climbing the walls. Two large guard towers were fitted with repurposed light anti-aircraft guns. The floodlights illuminated him and Natasha, bathing them in the stark white light and he averted his eyes to disguise the reflective sheen. He could hear the guards shift along the wall as they spotted them in the clearing. They’d kill him on sight if they knew what he was. 

“Please!” he cried, hoping that would give them pause. He didn’t have to pretend to sound afraid. Steve kept his eyes trained on Natasha as he sat back, his hands raised nonthreateningly. “Please don’t shoot.” 

Natasha squirmed under him, her eyes wide as she watched him desperately. There was a terrible pause and Steve could hear a stir of activity on the rampart as the hunters there struggled with what to make of this. It was still dark enough that he hoped it disguised how pale he was, how different he was. He knew Old Ones often didn’t approach their targets unless they were sure of a victory. They had more self preservation than the horde did. His heart was so loud in his ears— its rhythm was erratic, labouring. He was counting on the guards never having heard an infected speak. He was counting on them believing he was human, at least long enough to make his move to either escape or find out about the cure. 

Movement in his periphery made Steve glance briefly up at the wall. From the rampart above a woman emerged. Her hair was cropped short, her eyes narrowed dangerously as she appraised him with a scowl. 

“Move and you’re dead,” she warned, her voice cutting through the early morning light. “Who are you?”

But Steve didn’t have time for this, he cocked his head and pursed his lips. “Are you in charge?” he asked. 

  
  


“I’m in charge enough,” she said, “I asked you a question. Who are you?” 

Steve was filled with a wild desperation that he struggled to keep in check. “I need to speak to Fury,” he said. “It’s important.” 

There was a pause. The woman bristled, and seemed to be trying to make him out a bit more clearly. “You have five seconds to tell me who you are and what you want,” she warned. 

Steve gritted his teeth and looked up at her then, a snarl on his face. Natasha squirmed excitedly beneath him. He knew his eyes caught the light when he saw the woman bristle in discomfort. It was clear she hadn’t seen any infected like him and he used the shock to say what he needed to say.

“I need to see Fury,” he growled. “Tell him it’s Steve Rogers. Tell him I have news about Hydra.” 

The woman quickly swallowed her initial shock and squared her shoulders. She looked like she was about to speak, to give the order to have him shot, when a familiar voice cut through the morning air. 

“At ease, Hill.” 

A tiny, relieved smile pulled at Steve’s lips. It was strange to think he would find comfort in hearing Fury’s blunt voice. When he appeared on the wall, arm in a sling, accompanied by two armed guards to stand next to Hill, Steve felt the situation diffuse a little. He recognized the man at Fury’s side, meeting his gaze briefly. AB-, Natasha’s friend. He had made it back safely… He looked down at him like he wanted to kill him. Steve sighed and turned his gaze to Natasha as she snarled and snapped beneath him as she recognized her friend’s scent. 

“Easy, Natasha,” he said softly as he turned her gaze back to him. She didn’t seem to want to listen to him, so he bared his teeth and growled. Her gaze flitted to him and she snarled. “They are mine,” he whispered, “they’re not for you.” 

She seethed and whined low and desperately, the fight going out of her. Steve sighed and slowly got up and helped Natasha to her feet. She was trembling, barely able to contain her hunger. But her deference to him was stronger than her desire for blood and he squeezed her arm gently to refocus her attention to him. She whined, practically begging him to let her kill them, to spill their blood and give her a measure of peace. 

“Rogers,” Fury said bluntly. 

Steve turned his attention to the former director of Shield with a critical look. “Fury.” 

Fury narrowed his good eye, taking in Natasha’s snarling face with a look of quiet anger. “We figured something must’ve gone wrong when you escaped and our team never made contact after arriving in Belgium,” he said, “When did she turn?” 

Steve stepped forward a little, encouraging Natasha to stay behind him. “A few days ago—”

“Was it you that did it?” 

Steve clenched his jaw, turning to Natasha with a pained look. “No— she did this to herself.” Fury was infuriatingly impassive and Steve glowered. None of them knew the gravity of what she had done for them and he hated them for it. Fury appeared unimpressed and Steve stepped forward, his voice sharp. “Did you not see that plume of smoke, or notice that Hydra’s forces pulled back? It was her— she did this to give you all a chance!”

Fury pursed his lips. “We noticed.” he said coolly. “Why are you here now?”

Frustrated, Steve leaned forward and the hunters at Fury's side tensed, their fingers itching over the triggers of their weapons. 

“Because you have to turn her back,” he said, voice tense with anger. “She did this to save all of you. She killed Hydra’s top brass, stopped them from developing a sunlight resistant breed of infected, and freed your captured hunters! We destroyed the rest of them to buy you all some time.” 

Fury’s answer was not what Steve wanted to hear. “What makes you think we have the means to help her?” he said. 

Steve snorted at that, his fingers curling into a loose fist. “You said it yourself, you knew something was wrong. If you knew ahead of time, a man like you would have taken countermeasures. You wouldn’t lose something so important so easily.”

Fury was silent, his brow furrowed as he appraised Steve sharply. It hadn’t taken long to sketch out Fury’s character— he was pragmatic, shrewd, discerning. Steve knew he had judged him correctly, his silence told him as much. 

“And if we refuse?” Fury said quietly. 

Steve snarled at that, his teeth bared threateningly. “On what grounds?” 

“On the grounds that you’re suspicious as _ hell _ and I don’t believe you.” 

A short, sharp, humourless laugh burst from Steve’s chest as the anger swirled in him. A small part of him understood Fury’s caution, but it was quickly replaced by his rage, his hatred and revulsion. “She gave you everything! She gave you her childhood, her blood and sweat and tears. She gave her life for all of you!” 

Fury was silent at that accusation. He could’ve said a thousand things to provoke him further— that this was the cost of being a hunter, that Natasha had chosen this. These were all things Steve expected him to say, to throw at him like weapons. But he was silent and that was somehow more infuriating. 

“If you can’t give her this in return, then there’s no point, is there?” Steve said dangerously as he stepped closer. “What is the point of any of you if you can’t bring her back? You’re everything I thought you were. You’re animals. Only good for the blood you produce.” 

Steve laughed again, bitter anger consuming him. If he couldn’t save Natasha, what then? He didn’t want to consider the possibility. His human heart was so hopeful, so painfully optimistic that he refused to consider the alternative. He looked at Natasha, taking in her sharp teeth, her pale skin, her black and silver eyes… If he couldn’t get her back, then he wasn’t a good man. He’d shed his humanity and stay with her as an infected, an Old One. 

“If you can’t save her,” he said calmly, “If you can’t do this for her, then I will personally wipe you all from the Earth.” 

The awful tension returned, settling over the compound like a death sentence. “You think you’re in a position to make threats?” Fury warned. 

Steve laughed at that, giving him a savage smile. “No director, not threats. Promises.” 

Fury narrowed his eye further as he studied him and Steve felt strangely calm. What he said was true… those were the options he had. Finally, Fury sighed and relented. 

“We have something in the works,” he said, “But it’ll take some time before we’re ready to test.”

Steve felt himself relax then, the tension and anger dissolving a little at the gruff man’s words. He sighed and stole a brief glance at Natasha, a tiny half smile gracing his features. Natasha stared at him as if asking his permission to attack, her teeth bared, her clawed fingers flexed. Hesitantly Steve took her hand, his thumb tracing over the ridge of her severed finger. She growled softly, her expression tense and confused. 

“We want the cure as much as you do, Rogers, but we’re not out of the woods yet,” Fury said and Steve shot him a look. His tone implied he wanted something. “Hydra may have pulled back for now, but we can’t take much more.” 

Steve squeezed Natasha’s hand and she looked at him questioningly. “What are you asking me to do?” he said flatly. 

“We need time.” 

“How long?” 

Fury shrugged and looked over at Hill. “We don’t know. Projections say a month maybe? Two months? A lot of our resources were cut because of Hydra’s attack.” 

Steve clenched his jaw. “Time is in short supply these days,” he said, “I don’t know if I have that long.” 

Fury was silent, waiting for Steve to elaborate and Steve sighed. Fury had divulged important information to him and he felt he could do the same. “My heart is stopping,” he said, “The cure you gave me is wearing off. Soon I won’t care what happens to Natasha, let alone you and the rest of the colony. If I lose whatever humanity I have left, then I can guarantee you that it’ll be the end of you all.” 

Fury’s brow furrowed deeply and he looked troubled. Steve faced him, wanting him to believe what he was about to say. 

“I’ll do what I can to keep Hydra off your back, but I need your word that you will do whatever it takes to get that cure.” 

There was a long beat of silence, Steve’s heart pounded slowly in his chest. He needed Fury to understand the gravity of this. He trusted his pragmatism, his ability to set aside his feelings to do what was best for his kind. Fury rubbed his face tiredly and studied Steve very carefully. Eventually he nodded. 

“I’ll put everyone I can on this,” he said. 

Relief flooded through Steve— Fury seemed to trust his word. It wasn’t like either of them had many options but to trust one another. Fury was a blunt, gruff man, but he could set aside whatever he felt to make difficult decisions. Steve admired him for that, if nothing else. 

Steve stole a glance at the pale sky, he would need to leave soon, to make sure Natasha had a safe place to sleep for the day. He glanced back to Fury and levelled his gaze on him. 

“I appreciate that, director. I know how much this cure means.” Steve said, squeezing Natasha’s hand. It was important enough to die for. “I’ll be back later,” he promised. 

Steve turned to leave and Natasha growled at him. Her disappointment was clear, but he wouldn’t let her destroy herself. Instead, he smiled at her and guided her away from the colony. She looked back over her shoulder at the man who had been her mentor for all of these years and snapped at him, her face twisted in a hateful sneer as she spit and snarled. As Steve retreated, he heard him speak again just before they entered the woods. 

“I want her back, too, Rogers,” he admitted quietly. 

That was reassuring, too.

* * *

That day Fury met with Steve to negotiate a deal without the prying eyes of the colony guards or Natasha trying to kill anyone. Fury correctly assessed that they would be needing blood and in exchange Steve gave him information about Hydra’s whereabouts, what they were planning, and where they stationed the horde during the day. After having a team dispatched to confirm the truth of what he said about the nearest Hydra hideout, Fury seemed satisfied with his information and gave him two blood bags from the medical cold storage. This part of their deal was kept under the table as the rest of the colony and Shield hunters didn’t seem like they’d be happy with that little arrangement. 

Natasha nearly leapt awake when he brought them back to her. She made a mess when she tore into one and drank deeply, making small, animalistic grunts. Steve bit into his own bag. He couldn’t suppress the awful darkness that came leaking out of him when he drank. Even when Natasha was still human, he couldn’t suppress it for her then… But Natasha now didn’t seem to mind, she licked the blood from her fingers with a desperate little whine. She didn’t seem satisfied by it anymore… When Steve had enough control over himself to think clearly, he gave her whatever he had left. 

Sabotaging Hydra was easier than anticipated and he began to develop a routine. He had thrived on order and routine when he had lived with Natasha and it made the waiting easier when he knew what his days were going to look like. Steve left Natasha during the day— she often was dormant and didn’t notice he was gone anyway. He would meet Fury at the ramparts and answer whatever questions he had about Hydra and Fury would update him on the status of the cure. Steve was supplied with blood every three days to prevent the stores from becoming too noticeably low. He hated the waiting. It was hard to do when he spent most of his time watching Natasha fall dormant or think about things that filled him with such immobilizing anger and grief. At night he found it harder to resist the wild urge for violence, especially when Natasha craved it. She was getting good at hunting, using her senses more keenly and he was starting to have a difficult time keeping her under control. The blood was just enough to keep her from madness, but it was clear that as each night passed, she wanted more than just cold storage blood. 

Eventually, Steve ran missions on his own. He was glad to have something more fulfilling to occupy his time during the day and Fury didn’t fully trust him to work with a team. That suited him fine, he couldn’t imagine working with a human team that didn’t include Natasha. Steve systematically began to remove the Hydra hideouts where the horde lay dormant in the day time. Given access to Shield and the colony’s weapons cache, he made short work of the old buildings, military bunkers, and underground tunnels. He often didn’t run into Old Ones— they were likely scrambling to figure out what happened at the old Hydra base and who was sabotaging the horde. He was destroying their hold on the colony and each night they retreated further and further back. Colony hunters and food gatherers began cleanup and fortification efforts during the day and as Steve chased Hydra from the area, they began to spread further out in their effort to obtain more supplies and rebuild. Steve didn’t care what they did, as long as they left him and Natasha alone. Fury seemed pleased and that was all Steve cared about. But days were becoming weeks, weeks were bleeding into a month and a half and Steve started to resent the lack of clear progress on the cure. His patience was wearing thin and he could see Fury becoming a little more guarded when he talked with him. 

“These things take time, Rogers,” Fury said, eyeing him warily. 

Steve felt his lip quirk into an irritated scowl and a growl rumbled low in his chest. “I’m giving you everything and you have nothing to show in return. I want more than that if this deal is going to continue.” 

Fury sighed heavily and handed him the blood bags as payment. “We’re confident we will have something ready to test by the end of the week,” he assured him. “I know it’s been longer than we anticipated, but we’re running low on… well, everything here.” 

It was not as soon as he would’ve liked, but it was a deadline at least. Steve grabbed the blood from Fury with a little half smile and headed back to Natasha for the day. 

It had been about a month now since she was infected— but it began to feel like a lifetime. He hated to think that he was getting used to seeing her like this. She seemed to actively listen when he spoke now, she learned and anticipated his routine, and began to watch him carefully. He tried not to let it excite him, he tried to think of it in different terms. It had been a month since she died, since she had last said his name… He sighed and read the label on the blood bag in his hand for the hundredth time as he approached the ruined building they had holed up in. His head snapped up when he heard a familiar voice. 

“Come here,” it prompted softly, curling around him like an invitation. 

Steve’s heart dropped when he realized it was Natasha. She sounded so kind and his breath hitched. He had nearly forgotten what she had sounded like. He could remember it, but he thought of it less and less… He dashed into the clearing to see a young girl staring into the darkness of the crumbling brick building they were living in. She looked to be about fourteen, a gatherer basket slung over her shoulders. The gatherers had been spreading further out recently… The girl must’ve spotted him in her periphery because she turned, a startled cry escaping her. In the moment that she looked away, Natasha reached out, her hand searing in the light as she snatched the girl and dragged her into the darkness. 

“Natasha!” he cried, fear striking through him. 

Steve dropped the blood and sprinted for her, grabbing her arm before she could bite into the girl. She snarled in response and squeezed her prey harder. With a dull pop, she broke the girl’s arm and she began to scream and writhe in her grasp. The smile Natasha gave him made him sick. He knew what she wanted. But he couldn’t let her have it. It would mean she was like him… He didn’t want her to wake up, to become human and know that she had killed her own kind, that she had reveled in their suffering.

Steve slashed her arm, and Natasha let go of the girl with a frenzied howl. She snapped, reaching for her again, but Steve pushed her from the darkness of the building and into the light. Natasha turned on him in a rage then, her face twisted in a terrible snarl. 

“Stop,” Steve pleaded. 

“Why?” her voice was a harsh whisper, full of venom and hatred. “Why should I?” 

It made him angry that he loved the sound of her voice when she was like this. That, even now, he was growing comfortable with her. This wasn’t Natasha, not in any way that mattered. 

He didn’t have an answer that would make sense or satisfy her, so he remained silent. She snorted, a harsh laugh bubbling from her chest as she licked the blood from her arm. She ignored him and sat back in the shadow of the building, curling up like an irritated feline. Steve sighed, recognizing that look in her. It didn’t matter that she was satisfying her thirst with the Shield supplied blood, she wanted more than that. He turned and went back into the light to retrieve the blood he had dropped. The girl was still there, shaking and crying in the sun. How foolish she was… but she was just a child who had never seen anything like Natasha before. He sighed and touched her shoulder and she flinched. 

“You can’t stay here,” he said quietly. 

The girl scrambled to her feet and ran, shooting him a look over her shoulder that he wasn’t sure how to interpret. He didn’t want to give it much thought anyway. Steve sighed and resumed searching for the abandoned blood. He’d have to move Natasha tonight. Spying them in the grass in the clearing, Steve bent and picked up the dropped bags of blood, turning them over in his hand before glancing back to the shadows of the building. Steve locked eyes with Natasha as she watched him in the darkness. 

Her eyes shone, predatory, hungry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoooo boy. This took a while to finish, but it's still technically Friday I guess haha. I hope you are all hunkering down and staying safe. The weather has turned suitably cold and miserable again here, so that's fine for writing and staying indoors. 
> 
> Next (and possibly final??) chapter will hopefully be out on Wednesday/Thursday next week. 
> 
> Also! I'm on twitter (@YeetaNo) follow me there for updates about the fic, polls about upcoming fics, and artwork! Also also! please check out my beta reader's work on twitter for a cool commission she did for my fic. (link below)
> 
> Stay safe and thanks for reading! 
> 
> https://twitter.com/thejunoro/status/1243661942205452288


	26. Still I Rise

Steve was focused on his next steps as he watched the clearing outside, deep in thought. He would have to move Natasha at nightfall— but what if the colony survivors came looking for her before then? Even if they knew that he had worked on a deal with Fury, they likely wouldn’t be so understanding when that girl returned to the fort with a broken arm and stories of two Old Ones taking refuge not far from from the fort. Steve glanced at the sky outside with a sigh. Nightfall was still hours away and Natasha couldn’t survive long in the sun. He could try to move her, but he didn’t want her to suffer needlessly. Imagining the way she would blister and burn and writhe in the sunlight made him sick. He was frustrated— he should’ve been back sooner, but they needed the blood today. He gripped the blood bag tightly, focusing on the way it folded in his hand. He still hadn’t drank any of it yet and as he watched the rich crimson in his hands he was nearly swallowed whole by a feeling of desperate need. He grimaced and rubbed his eyes tiredly as the feeling swirled in him, taking hold of his insides in an unbearable pressure. His mind buzzed and it became extremely difficult to think. The hunger slithered through him, creeping up the base of his skull and onto the back of his tongue, settling there like a suffocating presence in his mouth. He could barely breathe. 

When Natasha touched him, he flinched, whirling on her with a snarl. Her eyes were wide and her gaze flicked to the bag in his hand hungrily. He supposed she wanted his, too. 

“You don’t want it?” she asked, her speech was a little stilted, like she was still relearning how to do it.

Steve swallowed hard and was about to answer when her hand curled around his with a gentle smile. It never reached her eyes, there was no kindness there. It unnerved him, to see. But he was surprised when she guided the bag up to his mouth with an air of malicious curiosity. 

“You’ll feel better if you drink,” she said. 

Objectively, Steve knew she was right, but he didn’t like the way she looked at him. But he didn’t give it much thought beyond that. The hunger rose in him dangerously and he couldn’t resist it anymore. He bit into the bag and made a muffled little grunt when the blood, rich and delicious rushed over his tongue. He drank deeply, everything else fading into the background as this unbridled weightless sensation took him over. The pressure stopped, the buzzing stopped, all other thoughts stopped. He was finally released from the constant ache of living, of resisting and denying. He imagined he could see it— vibrant and red and honeyed— dribbling down the back of his eyelids as it filled him. 

Natasha’s laughter curled around him like a warm embrace. It sounded so familiar. He inhaled deeply, the scent filling him like a sweet cloud that fogged his brain. He had gotten a good one this time. It was hit or miss with humans, but this was wonderful, vibrant. If only it were hot. 

Steve’s eyes fluttered open to find Natasha studying him with a knowing smile. It was the kindest he had seen her look and he bristled. She looked so much like his Natasha. The fog of hunger still swirled in him and he blinked, trying to come back to himself. He licked the blood from his lips and breathed evenly, his brow furrowing in concentration. Natasha tilted her head a little and swept the blood from his cheek. 

“Oh… There you are,” she said looking at him with such strange satisfaction. 

Steve frowned and pushed her hand away. “Don’t,” he warned. But Natasha laughed, a terrible cruel sound. 

“Why do you resist what you are?” she asked. “Sometimes I see it in you— the real you, trying to come out.” 

Steve clenched his jaw and turned away. She was perceptive, she watched him more carefully that he realized. 

“You like this,” she continued. “You want this. Why do you hide that?” 

Steve found himself asking the same question lately. His heartbeat was becoming quieter and a part of him longed for the silence. But it was all he had left of her, he had to remember that. She had given him his heart and it was the only thing keeping him good. He did it for her. Steve searched Natasha’s face, studying the gentle arches of her brows, her long reddish lashes, the spray of freckles on her milky skin. Natasha bristled, seeing something in him that filled her with venom and her expression darkened.

“What is that look?” she hissed. “You look at me like that all the time.” 

Steve couldn’t give her an answer that would make sense to her, so he looked away. Her reaction was immediate; she got in his face, her expression twisted into a snarl. 

“I couldn’t figure out what was different about you,” she hissed, “but now I realize that it’s this.” She reached up to place her palm over his stuttering heart. Her tone was accusatory, spiteful. “Is this what makes you do this? You suffer so needlessly in your struggle to hold onto this. You beg for scraps from the vermin and when you come back to me you_ reek _ of them.” Her voice was laced in disgust and her talons dug painfully into his skin. “You keep me here. You never let me leave, you won’t let me kill them.” her frustration and anger was palpable and Steve met her gaze. “What am I to you?” she asked, her voice laced with venom. 

Her accusation fell on him like a terrible weight. Of course she would be frustrated, angry. He was denying her the one thing the infection demanded— violence, destruction. Slowly he took her wrists and guided her hands from his chest. She faltered, clearly confused by his gentleness. 

“You are my heart, Natasha,” he said quietly. “I love you.” 

She didn’t know what to say and fell into angry silence, her hands relaxing in his grip. She searched him for meaning, but found none in his expression, so she jerked her hands from his grasp and stalked away into the darkness of the room. Natasha remained silent after that, her brow furrowed in confusion. Steve knew that she wouldn’t understand the meaning of what he said to her and she became withdrawn for the rest of the afternoon. Steve tried not to think about what this was doing to her, or how much it hurt to think about. He focused his attention back on moving them to a new location. Steve rubbed his face tiredly and glanced back at Natasha. 

“I’ll be back,” he promised. 

She just snorted and said nothing and he went into the light to scout the area. If they stuck to the shade, maybe they could make it until dark… But Steve couldn’t see a good plan in this, so he stayed in the area, watching for signs of hunters or humans coming to destroy them, to burn them out of hiding. But an hour passed and then two and still nobody came. Maybe it would be a nonissue. The sun would be going down soon and there was no way anyone would try to find them at night. The fort locked down at night as they scraped together whatever resources they could to try and make it through another night and they likely didn’t want to send out any hunters to deal with it if they knew he was involved. The colony had to focus on staying afloat, not pissing him off. The horde attacks were becoming less frequent now thanks to him, and it couldn’t have come at a better time. Hydra knew they were close to breaking the colony, but they had no idea just how close they were. There was very little left in the way of weapons and the siege resources were dangerously low. Steve had given the colony a chance to rebound and, after losing their leadership and the possibility of the sunlight cure, Hydra seemed to be falling back and regrouping. Steve knew another attack was imminent, but he and the other Shield hunters had destroyed several key strategic locations. It was easy enough to decimate the horde in the daytime, easier still for him to do it as they wouldn’t attack him. And if he ever encountered them, he never let any of the Old Ones live, so Hydra was likely closing ranks to stop their losses and figure out how the hunters knew where to find them. 

But Steve was quickly exhausting the Hydra information that he had. One or two more raids and he would no longer be of use to Shield. He hoped he had done enough to win Fury’s favour when that happened. Steve sighed and watched the sun dip low in the sky. He headed back to join Natasha and keep her safe for the night. Fury had promised him something by the end of the week. He knew they were likely wanting to test what they had first, but it couldn’t come soon enough. He was tired of coming back empty handed and Natasha couldn’t wait any longer.

It was sunset when Steve returned and Natasha was pacing the darkness of the room, anticipating and hungry. She radiated a wild energy that sent a thrill through him to see and he quickly suppressed it. She snapped to attention when he stepped out of the fading light and into the shadows with her. 

“We’ll have to move tonight,” he said, watching her closely. 

Her eyes narrowed and she looked like she might ask him why, but she inhaled sharply and shot a glance to the long shadows stretching across the field outside. “Are we going to have some fun?” she asked.

Steve gave into the dark desire for violence just enough to give her a sinister smile. “Sure,” he lied. He needed to placate her for a few more days. He wasn’t sure how, but he had to keep her with him until the cure was ready. 

For a moment Natasha just stared at him, her head cocked to the side before she returned his smile. Darkness fell around them and Natasha grew more and more antsy. It was dusk when she tested stepping outside. She seemed to love the way the evening air felt on her skin and she tilted her face to the sky to watch the emerging stars above. Steve followed her outside and stood with her for a while. He watched the faint twinkle of the stars overhead before turning his gaze to the ground. It felt wrong to do this with her now. 

“Let’s go,” he said, guiding her toward the hideout he had scouted a few days ago. Natasha laughed softly and followed him into the darkness of the woods. 

The sky slowly grew inky and dark and Natasha was silent as she followed behind him, still radiating that wild excitement. But Steve stayed focused on the path ahead. They were moving further away from the colony and the places where gatherers were working. He had to make sure that Natasha stayed away from them as much as possible. He could imagine what she might do to them— he had done it himself once upon a time and he never wanted that for her. A warm breeze rushed through the trees and tingled over his skin. Behind him, Natasha faltered, her footsteps slowing and he frowned. When she took him by the wrist he turned, his expression laced with confusion. She was quiet, her expression nearly unreadable as she studied him. Steve was about to ask her what she was doing when she took his wrist in both hands and squeezed hard. A bolt of pain shot through him and he twisted and grabbed her to pry her off of him, but she gripped him tighter until the bones creaked and then splintered with a sickening snap. Steve snarled and cried out and Natasha used his pain to throw him over her hip. Steve crashed to the forest floor and Natasha pounced on him, pinning him beneath her. 

“You’re a terrible liar,” she said with a wicked smile. “You have such an obvious tell.” She smoothed her hand over his chest and her clawed finger tapped over the dull beat of his heart. Steve swallowed hard, his eyes narrowing as he squirmed beneath her. “It gets louder when you try to hide your real self, when you try to stop me from hunting. But I know you want it too. Deep down, I know you want to let go. I can hear this stopping a little more every day. But you are afraid to let it.”

Pain shot through his arm as Natasha ground her knee into his broken wrist. Steve grasped her waist with his good hand and flicked his gaze to her, fighting down the animalistic rage swirling inside him. 

“Natasha, please…” he strained. 

But at the sound of her name, her eyes narrowed dangerously and she pushed her clawed finger into his skin. “Natasha,” she sneered, her face twisted in an ugly snarl. Steve winced and he pulled his hand free to grab her wrist, but she dug in further, her talon scraping bone as she raked it down his chest, cutting a deep, painful incision over his heart. Steve cried out and pushed her back, blood gushing down his chest. 

Natasha tumbled, a savage smile twisting her features into a cruel mask. She quickly scrambled to her feet and dove on him before he could recover. 

“Natasha! Natasha!” she mocked, as she took him by the leg and gripped his ankle tightly. Before he could kick her off of him, Natasha squeezed hard and shattered the joint. Steve gasped in pain and she sat on top of him again, pushing him back by pressing into the deep gash on his chest when he tried to sit. “I don’t want that name!” she growled leaning close to his face, “It’s not mine.” 

Steve gritted his teeth, staring up at her in anger. His wrist and ankle pulsed dully, sending a thrill of ache through him. Natasha collected herself a little and shifted on top of him with an air of annoyance and sighed in exasperation before she smoothed her hand over his bleeding heart.

“I understand,” she breathed. “It’s not your fault. You’re sick. You can’t help yourself, you’re tormented by that thing in your chest.” 

Steve jerked beneath her, throwing her off of him with a snarl. He lunged for her, but she knocked his arm away and hit him hard in the jaw. Stars burst in his periphery and he fell, disoriented to the ground. He blinked hard, trying to recover before she could do worse to him, but Natasha drew his leg out, smoothing her foot over his thigh before she stomped down hard. His femur protested— he could feel a painful crack begin to form and she stomped it again and again until the bone snapped. A sharp bust of pain exploded in him and Steve screamed. 

Natasha laughed savagely, her eyes wide as she watched him squirm before she stood. “But I know what will fix you,” she said softly, “I know how to help you.” Steve eyed her angrily as she turned and took off toward the colony, determined to save him from himself. 

Dread sunk deep into his heart as he watched her disappear and Steve grunted, shaking with rage. She made sure to break him in multiple places. It would take him longer to heal that way. He should’ve known better. He should’ve known she might try to fight him on this. He remembered seeing the plume of smoke rising in the distance, the sharp metallic knife of fear that lanced through him when he had found their cabin ablaze, unsure if Natasha was still inside. When the first explosions went off in the distance, it dawned on him what she had done. The lengths she would go to to save him… He was too late then. He arrived in time to see her die. 

Steve screamed in frustration, his fists curled painfully tight as he bowed his head toward the ground. He could feel the bones in his wrist and ankle begin to mend and stitch themselves back together, slowly, achingly, but every second he waited was more of a head start for Natasha. Steve pushed himself up with a strangled cry and pushed through the agony to make himself stand. This time he wouldn’t be too late. He limped and faltered and pushed himself to go after her. He couldn’t let her lose herself. He couldn’t let her become a monster. 

Steve slowly made progress, his broken bones healing slowly. Each step was agony, but he didn’t care. He grew faster and faster with each step until he ran, sprinting as fast as his body would let him. When he arrived the fort was up in arms. He could hear shouts from the inside— smoke rose in the night air, illuminated by the stark white of the floodlights and the fire that tore through the buildings inside. She still liked setting fires, it seemed. The guards on the wall spotted him briefly, but he sprinted out of sight and ran around the perimeter, the sounds of struggle becoming louder. He could see the claw marks where Natasha had run in and scaled the wall. She had found a weak point in their defences— the minefields had been decimated by the horde and their defences weren’t back to full operational order yet. Steve was glad of that. He scrambled up the wall, his fingers biting into the stone surface. The guards on the wall cried out in alarm when he jumped down next to them. They were bloody and teams worked to evacuate the wounded— Natasha must’ve torn into them when she scaled the wall. But Steve ignored them and leapt down into the town below, taking off in the direction of the fire. 

Shots rang out behind him and he felt the burst of pain in his shoulder and side, but he ignored it with a frustrated snarl. There was a flurry of movement, panicked people evacuating, crews working to put out the flames, hunters rushing to get people to safety, join the guards along the wall, or running for the source of the chaos. Nobody noticed him. In the darkness he could clearly see where hunters were running to and he sprinted toward the old building. Steve bowled over the teams as he burst through the doors in pursuit. 

Lab personnel scrambled and shots rang out from deep in the building. The building’s alarm wailed, and the sprinklers rained a continuous stream down the hallways. He heard Natasha’s angry shrieks, glass shattering, and the pained cries of hunters. He pushed past the frightened scientists and followed the scent of blood down the maze of hallways. Steve rushed past closed doors, glass observation rooms, sleeping quarters until he skidded to a stop. He caught sight of Natasha’s fiery red hair in the open doorway ahead of him. She pinned director Fury to the floor, her claws raised and wickedly sharp. Her friend was bleeding on the floor, his arm slashed. Steve recognized his scent. Natasha’s eyes flicked to meet his and Steve dove for her as she raced to kill Fury. 

She just grazed Fury’s throat— Steve could smell the sharp burst of his blood in the air— before he tackled her to the floor. Immediately she was on him, snapping and snarling and tearing his flesh to ribbons. Steve struggled to get a hold on her, the rage boiling over inside him as he returned her vicious snarls with his own. He threw her from him before she could slash his throat open and she crashed into the counter tops and glassware on the other side of the room. They were in a lab of some kind. Natasha recovered and lunged for Fury, who grunted and struggled to get out of the way. Steve dove into her, intercepting her midair. He hit her so hard he felt her collarbone crack on impact and she howled, her eyes wide with rage. She kicked out his knee as she hit the ground and he crashed on top of her with a cry. Before he could recover, Natasha rolled on top of him and pounded his jaw, snapping his head into the floor. Dazed, he struggled to keep his grip on her, blood bubbling from his mouth. Footsteps registered outside of the room and he briefly saw Hill and a team of hunters enter to help Fury to his feet. Enraged, Natasha smashed her fist into Steve’s jaw again and his vision blurred and he felt her tear from his grasp. Shots rang out and Natasha shrieked and lunged at the hunters, her claws flexed. 

Dazed, Steve pushed himself onto his stomach, giving his head a little shake. He could feel his jaw was broken. The scent of blood swirled and choked in the room, the alarm blared, too loud, and the crushing and stink of human fear filled his mouth. Steve gritted his teeth, the pain helping to steady him before he woozily stood and launched himself at Natasha again, catching her around the waist. She snarled and he threw her over his hip to the floor. The hunters were in a tangled, squirming, bloody mass as they struggled to stand, to defend, to attack. Before Steve could pin Natasha she slashed his neck and he crashed to the floor with a cry. She straddled him, reaching down to grip his throat with a hateful sneer. The hunter team recovered and began to escort Fury from the room, drawing Natasha’s attention. She tensed and Steve’s world swirled dangerously, but he heard his name cut through the chaos. 

Steve looked over to see Natasha’s friend, bloody and prone on his stomach. He tossed an object at him and it clattered just at his fingers and Steve grasped it. Though his haze he saw it was a syringe. He met the other man’s gaze and he looked at Steve so intensely, so fiercely. Natasha tensed, a vicious smile on her face, and leapt to go after Fury but Steve held her tightly in his grip. 

“Natasha,” he said. 

She whirled on him, furious and so full of rage. She barely registered the syringe in his hand before Steve stabbed it into her heart and injected her with the cure. 

Immediately Natasha snarled, swiping at him, and knocked the needle from his grip. Steve watched her with breathless anticipation, a strange feeling rising in him as he studied her face— desperate for any sign of change. Natasha had looked at him the same way when she had injected him once upon a time, but now he understood what she must’ve felt then. Hope. Her hand flew up to the injection site and she laughed angrily, disbelievingly. She struck him a final time and slipped from his grasp as he lay dazed on the floor. 

Steve shook himself and scrambled to follow, watching her disappear into the hall. Natasha ran and he followed. Was it working? Steve swallowed hard, wiping the blood from his mouth and sprinted after her. As he rounded the corner, Natasha cried out and froze mid-stride, her muscles tensing in a painful contortion that seized her whole body. Steve caught her as she collapsed to the floor, shaking uncontrollably. Convulsing, Natasha’s head tipped back and she wailed, veins bulging in her neck. When she relaxed enough to move again, she rolled herself over, scrambling to get away and fighting off Steve’s attempts to hold her still. But she couldn’t support herself and she collapsed again, panting weakly. Every nerve ending, every synapse seemed to fire in her as she arched and screamed in his arms. The slightest touch appeared excruciating and she cried hoarsely when he held her. 

“What did you do?!” She shrieked. 

Blood wept from her eyes and fear lanced through Steve as he watched her writhe. He didn’t know. 

He gathered her in his arms and held her close, her struggles becoming halfhearted and weak. She stared hatefully at him before her eyelids fluttered and another convulsion took her. Natasha sobbed through it, her muscles tensing and jerking uncontrollably. Heat flooded through her, radiating out from the injection sight and she curled against Steve’s chest, her teeth chattering uncontrollably. A fever tore through her then, burning unbearably hot against Steve’s skin. Natasha panted and her vision became unfocused as she looked confusedly around the room, no longer seeming to recognize where she was. She was too tired to resist anything anymore. Her limbs were sapped of all strength, becoming leadened and limp against him. She let Steve carefully brush the hair from her sweaty face, whimpering and nuzzling into his cool touch. He cradled the back of her neck and she groaned and seized again. It was a mercy when she passed out. 

Steve watched the buzzing lights overhead as Natasha burned and shivered in his arms. Slowly, through her back, he could feel her heart begin to beat. It was faint at first, like an ember, nearly extinguished. But it began to grow stronger and stronger until it beat steady and loud beneath his palm as he felt between her shoulder blades. Steve laughed a little in disbelief and he curled his knees up to hold her tightly. He buried his face into her hair as the sirens blared and hunters scrambled and chaos swirled around him. 

* * *

Natasha drifted back to awareness slowly. She tried to move, and her fingers twitched weakly. She felt like she had been hit by a truck— her chest was heavy, her body nearly unresponsive. She grunted and inhaled deeply, her eyes sliding open. Across from her, Steve sat, head bowed, hands covering his face. He looked grief-stricken, exhausted. It was dark in the room— at least, she was fairly sure it was. She could see alarmingly well. Natasha tried to sit up a little, but couldn’t. Her body was totally done. She could only look over at him briefly, before her eyes slid shut. She slipped in and out of consciousness— drifting in this strange haze. When she opened her eyes again Steve was by her side, relieved. 

“Natasha?”

She swallowed, eyes sliding shut again. It took her a minute but she finally replied. “Steve.”

Steve laughed, tension melting from his face. He took her hand and lifted it to his lips to kiss her knuckles. His lips were soft and cool and Natasha weakly cupped his face, thumb brushing his cheek idly. He turned his lips into her palm to kiss her and then held her there for a moment, watching her as she smiled lazily at him, a fog settling over her brain. 

“What happened?” She managed. 

He stroked her hair slowly and her eyes fluttered shut. When he spoke, it sounded like a dream. 

“What’s the last thing you remember?” 

Natasha had to think hard about that. She remembered the cabin… and retrieving the mortar rounds from the truck. It was hazy, but she remembered Bucky was there… and that was it. 

“I was… on my way to Hydra headquarters,” she said. 

She frowned deeply, her mind beginning to clear a little. Where was she? What had happened? A thousand questions raced through her and she struggled to sit. 

“Easy,” Steve said as he helped her to lie back.

Natasha fought through the malaise and fatigue to take his hand. She had to save him— he was Hydra, they were developing the sunlight serum, grooming him to lead them. But Steve just gave her a sad smile, his fingers interlacing with hers. On her right hand her ring finger was missing and she studied the remaining stump confusedly. He was gentle when he spoke, soothing. 

“That was almost two months ago,” he said softly 

Her eyes flew to his, her lips parting in shock. Her brow furrowed and she squirmed to sit, this time Steve helped her up. She was in a medical recovery gown, she noticed. She surveyed the room with a little more clarity, taking in the plain walls, the IV drip inserted into her left hand, the door with the small rectangular window above the handle, the Shield logo on Steve’s shirt. Steve watched it sink in and she glanced at him in disbelief. They were at the colony. 

“Your plan worked,” Steve said. “You destroyed the labs at Hydra, you freed the prisoners there— Sam and the others,” his thumb traced over the remains of her missing finger. “You almost had them, but… Red Skull caught you. He nearly killed you.” 

Natasha frowned and searched him. It hardly seemed real, she really had no memory of this. “You turned yourself to buy some more time,” he said, meeting her gaze. “You killed Red Skull and we took down the rest of Hydra Headquarters.” 

She blinked hard, her face tensed in confusion— it was impossible... 

“You were infected, Natasha.” 

A short, disbelieving laugh broke from her and she stared at her clammy hand interlaced with his. Her heart raced. She had so many questions that turned in her, but fear settled deep inside her and she let out a shaky little breath. 

“How am I— Why—” 

Was it possible? After so many years searching, hoping… 

“The cure works,” Steve said. 

Relief unlike anything she had felt before washed over her. She squeezed his hand as tightly as she could manage and brought her other hand to cover her mouth. She was shaking hard and Steve held her upright. She curled into him and he met her halfway, moving onto the bed to hold her tightly. Natasha buried her forehead against his neck and weakly wrapped her arm around him, tears welling in her eyes. All of this suffering, all of this misery, all the pain and the loss and blood and tears led to this. The cure worked. She breathed a shaky little laugh and pulled away to look at him. 

It was all too much to take in at once. It was all so unbelievable. She didn’t know what to tell him so she kissed him instead. It was strange how familiar it felt. Her body wouldn’t move the way she wanted it to, but she leaned in and pressed her lips to his. Steve drew a surprised little breath. He bloomed at her touch, his hands coming up to trace the curve of her neck, the contour of her waist. She could feel how much he had missed her in the way his lips met hers, slowly, longingly. He kissed her like it was the first time and a rush of such unbridled happiness rushed through her, overwhelming her until she laughed against his lips. Steve smiled in return and kissed her like he’d never let her go. But Natasha fatigued quickly and he gently guided her to lie back, kissing her all the way down. She sighed softly and he rested his forehead against hers before he kissed her temple and settled her more comfortably in bed, curling up next to her. He smoothed her hair back from her neck and she watched him, her heart soaring. 

They did it. They had the cure. 

She feebly curled her fingers into his shirt with a soft smile. She was exhausted, but she didn’t want to sleep, not now. But Steve stroked his fingers through her hair and her eyes fluttered shut. He was a little withdrawn, his breaths quiet in the small space of the room. His cool touch was dangerously soothing as he brushed through her hair to trace down her neck and over her collarbone. She grunted softly, her skin tingling at the contact. It was quiet and Natasha was close to dozing off again when Steve’s soft voice rumbled through her. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into her hair, “ I’m sorry for everything. I shouldn’t have left you alone. I shouldn’t have trusted Hydra. You were right… and… I let you down, Natasha.”

Natasha nuzzled against him sleepily, grief gnawing at her briefly. It felt good to hear, but he was safe now, she was safe now. They were alright. She looked up and kissed his jaw before settling back down against him. Her eyes fluttered open and she just listened to the slow, faint beat of his heart. They breathed in silence for a while before Natasha spoke. 

“Did I… y’know, kill anyone while I was…” 

Steve stroked her hair again, smoothing away from her face. 

“No,” he said softly, “You didn’t.” 

Relieved, Natasha sighed and let the rhythm of his breaths soothe her. She still had so many questions, but she just held onto him for now. That was more than enough for now. She was nearly asleep when she felt Steve burrow his face into her hair. His words were a cool rush on her skin as she drifted off. 

“Welcome back my darling Natasha,” he whispered.

* * *

When she awoke, Steve had disappeared and in the next few hours Natasha had a slew of visitors. Fury was the first after Steve. She nearly cried when he stepped into the room. She had been convinced he was dead, that he was buried in the ruin of Shield. She held herself together though, her eyes shining brightly. Fury was relieved to see her— his wry, faint smile told her as much. His arm was in a sling and a bandage covered a cut on his throat. She had to wonder if she was responsible for that. 

“Romanoff,” he said bluntly. “Glad to see you awake, finally. You owe me one hell of a report.” 

She laughed when she heard his voice. It felt so familiar, so constant and she felt herself reconnect to reality. She grounded herself in this feeling and she told him everything she remembered— Sitwell and Rumlow’s betrayal, Madame Hydra, Clint turning, Steve siding with Hydra, the sunlight serum they were developing, her finding Sam and the other hunters imprisoned at Hydra Headquarters, everything. Fury’s eyebrows shot up as he listened. He was quietly furious to hear of Rumlow and Sitwell, grieved to learn of Clint’s fate, and impressed when she told him about Hydra. The only thing she omitted were the moments she shared with Steve, the way she had fallen in love with him. Fury had likely guessed that they were close, but those memories were hers alone. Nobody needed to know. 

“Rogers told us what you did,” he said quietly, “We owe you a great debt, Romanoff.” 

She just smiled wanly and studied her hands, squirming under Fury’s recognition. She didn’t know how to accept it— she didn’t even remember doing it. 

“Whatever it takes, right sir?” she said. 

Fury just chuckled at that. He sat next to her with a sigh and crossed his legs as he settled into the chair. He told her everything in return. Shield had worked out a functional cure using the data they had collected from studying Steve when he was held at Shield. They had been testing it on blood samples first and it was promising. As a precaution, Fury had Shield send their findings over the colony labs along with a team of Shield lab technicians and scientists to work on it there as well, especially after nobody made contact from Belgium. All of the research that wasn’t sent over was lost when Shield fell— he didn’t go into detail about that, but his expression told Natasha that it wasn’t worth revisiting. The original cure she had injected into Steve was destroyed, the independent findings that hadn’t been sent were destroyed, they lost a lot that day. Fury told her about Steve showing up to beg for their help, how she became an Old One, how Steve worked with Shield and the colony to drive Hydra out of the area. 

He sighed heavily and paused, adjusting his injured arm with a grunt. “I suppose we owe him a great deal, too.” he said. “Though I know he was doing it all for you.” 

Natasha swallowed hard, tracing the gap her missing finger left on her hand. Heat began to creep into her face as his words settled on her. Her heart beat hard in her chest. She’d have to talk to Steve later, she’d have to ask him about what he had done. She could feel Fury’s eyes on her and endeavoured to keep her gaze on her hands. 

“You could do worse, Romanoff.” 

She flushed furiously at that, and Fury laughed a short, good-natured laugh. It was so brief that she might’ve imagined it and he continued with his report as if he hadn’t just ribbed her about her relationship with Steve. Natasha tried her best to listen, willing her face to turn less red. She learned that she had been out for four days since Steve cured her, that Steve refused to leave her until she woke up, and that they would need to do some testing on the way the cure worked on her. Fury smiled briefly and shot her a glance. 

“Glad to have you back,” he said.

After Fury left, the lab team came in to run some tests. They were exhausted, Natasha could tell, but they had such a look of collective hope that she couldn’t help but smile. She helped them in whatever way she could, answering questions, following their instructions for tests while they wrote down results. When she began to fatigue, they left her and she was alone, a tired smile on her face. It finally felt like a real win. A real breakthrough. 

A soft knock on the door drew her attention to Sam, standing hesitantly in the doorway. He was pretty battered, but he gave her a lopsided grin. 

“Hey Nat,” he said. 

It was good to see him alive. She tried to sit up, but he rushed into the room and made her lie back. “Don’t trouble yourself, I just came in to see how you were doing and—” 

He set down a little potted plant on the side table by her bed. It was small— a tiny sprig of green set in a too-large pot with a ribbon tied around it. She stared at it in disbelief. It was rosemary. 

“I know it’s not much,” Sam said, “but I knew you had one like it before, so I put the word out…”

Something about the tiny little plant broke Natasha and she buried her face in her hands and sobbed. 

“Nat?” Sam sounded alarmed. 

But Natasha could barely answer him. Tears gushed down her face and she wiped them like a child as she cried hard. It was a piece of home, a reminder that things would be okay. 

“Thank you,” she managed through her breathy little sobs. 

Sam chuckled and sat on the bed to pull her in for a tight hug. She clung to him tightly. 

“Don’t get all mushy on me,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. 

But she couldn’t help it. She cried. It finally felt like this was all over, that she had come home at last.

* * *

In the next few days, the lab teams were in and out of the room to run some more tests on her. She was the first person cured and they needed to study the effects and make sure it was permanent. The next few days were a whirlwind of tests, sleeping, and visitors. Steve was largely absent while she recovered, obviously uncomfortable with large crowds of visitors. But he came back at night to lie with her. She thanked him for everything he had done for her, everything he had done for Shield. But he was as reluctant to accept her thanks as much as she was to accept Fury’s and he just kissed her instead. He seemed troubled as the nights passed, but never told her why. 

Slowly, Natasha regained her strength as the results were coming back in. She was moved into sleeping quarters, given a space of her own. That was two nights ago now, and Steve hadn’t visited her. Natasha brushed her hair out and began to braid it. In the mirror, her eyes flashed, catching the light. The familiar green iris ringed the strange, reflective pupil. She looked like a nocturnal animal when the light hit her eyes a certain way. She sighed and focused on tying off the braid. 

It had been a week now since she was cured and the results were coming in. She retained some measure of her infected abilities, meaning she could see better in the dark. Blood tests conducted with capture horde also indicated that the horde didn’t seem altogether interested in her blood anymore. They weren’t sure if she was totally immune to reinfection yet, and weren’t about to try and infect her to try it out. 

For now, they had enough information to begin production of the cure. Their limited resources meant that they were only able to produce a batch of about twenty-five vials so far. It wasn’t near enough, but it was a start. Missions to run the cures to remaining Shield bases were already starting, but she would be sidelined for a while until she had her strength back. 

But she was on a secret mission today. She hadn’t seen Steve in a while. There was a lot she wanted to say to him and, more than that, she just wanted to see him. He had been avoiding the bustle of the labs, other people, and her it seemed. She slipped out of her room and into the hall. There was a commotion coming from the labs today and people were rushing to see what was wrong. Natasha just used the distraction to slip out of the building and into the fresh air. It was hard to guess what time it was when she spent most of her days inside undergoing observation, but it was late afternoon now and people were beginning sundown procedures. The gates were still open as the gatherers returned from their foraging and supply runs. 

She made herself jog through the open gates. She knew Steve wouldn’t hang around the colony if it weren’t for her, and her best bet for finding him was out here. The afternoon sun felt good on her back as she ventured into the treeline. A glimmer of fear struck through her, but she moved past it. She was stronger than it. She inhaled deeply and watched the birds flutter in the thick foliage above her. 

“Steve?” she called. 

Faintly she heard him call back and she headed for the sound. The forest opened into a small clearing and she was struck by the wildflowers in bloom. Steve sat in the clearing and he turned a little to face her when he heard her approach. He got up and Natasha’s smile faltered a little when she approached him. He looked scared. She wanted to ask what was wrong, but the object in his hand caught her eye and she fell silent. That must’ve been why the lab was in such disarray. 

Steve held the stolen cure syringe in his palm, eyeing it with a sad smile. “I thought I’d be able to do this.” He laughed a little, his expression wistful. “But I think I’m still afraid to die.” 

Natasha took his hand, and he looked at her carefully, his silver eyes searching. “Steve, come back to the colony,” she pleaded. “We can talk about this.” 

But he just shook his head, his fingers curling around the syringe. “We both know where this is heading. I’m dying, Natasha. My heart is stopping.”

It hurt to hear him admit it out loud. But she had suspected this was the case for a long time. She didn’t want to hear it. “No— the test cure, Shield can find another way. I… we need more time…” 

Steve smiled kindly and stepped closer to smooth the little scar on her cheek. “I think I’ve realized something,” he said. “I can’t hold on to the humanity in me. I don’t want to end up right back here again, I don’t want to feel this pull to destroy, to hurt anymore.” 

It was selfish, childish, but it was all she could think to say. “I just got you back,” she said softly, her eyes welling with tears. 

Steve gave her a gentle smile and leaned in to press his lips to hers. Natasha slid her hand up to his neck, her thumb brushing his jawline. Steve drew her closer, his hand taking her by the small of her back as the other cradled her head, his hands delving into her hair. Kissing him was as easy as breathing, but it hurt more than anything. Tears slipped freely down Natasha’s cheeks and Steve pulled away to kiss them from her face. She just pulled herself into him, clutching him tightly as she buried her face into his shoulder. Steve turned his face into her hair and they just stood there, breathing together in a tight embrace. 

Natasha didn’t want to let him go, but he pulled away a little to look at her and she met his eyes. He tilted his head a little and swept the hair from her face. Her heart was painful in her chest and she hardly knew what to say to him. It didn’t seem fair. 

“I know I’m asking a lot of you. I’ve always asked too much of you Natasha,” he said softly, as he tucked the syringe into her hand. She glanced down at the cure in her palm, her eyes wide. “I don’t have much time. I wanted to do it myself, I stayed out here to… but I couldn’t do it.” His brow furrowed and he gave her a pained smile. “But if it was you who did it…” Natasha swallowed hard and Steve took her other hand and placed it over his heart. She couldn’t feel it beating anymore and a tear slipped down her cheek. “I want this,” he said. 

He took her hand, curling his fingers around hers as she held the syringe. But Natasha was frozen. It wasn’t fair. There had to be another way… There had to be something else. But she knew there wasn’t. The old cure was gone and even if it wasn’t, she couldn’t ask him to live like this anymore. She knew that he would if she begged him to stay. But that wasn’t fair either. She met his silver eyes desperately and her heart pounded in her ears. 

Watching him, taking in his pale skin, his gentle smile, his beautiful eyes, she was overwhelmed by how much she loved him. And it occurred to her now that she had never told him. She had been too shy to say it then, too much of a stranger to her own heart. But she knew herself now, she understood now. 

“Steve—” she said, wiping her tears on her shoulder. “Steve I—”

But he stopped her with a kiss and she hooked her arms around his neck, the syringe a terrible burden in her hand. “Don’t tell me right now,” he said, his lips brushing hers as he spoke. He sounded pained and Natasha had the sense that he knew what she might say. “Tell me when I wake up.” 

Natasha shook her head, pulling back to look at him. “It’s not the same. He’s not you, Steve. He won’t know me.” 

But he just tilted his head and smiled at her. “Natasha” he breathed, “how many times did I fall in love with you? What’s one more?”

He sounded so sure of himself that Natasha laughed through her tears at that and touched her forehead to his. It didn’t matter if Steve Rogers loved her, he wasn’t hers. Steve didn’t want her to say it now, so she thought of it instead._ I love you._ She let it spread through her like wildfire, she wanted him to see it in her eyes when she looked back at him, when she smiled at him. His slow smile told her that he saw it and she smiled as brightly as she could when she brought the syringe to his neck and injected him with the cure.

Steve flinched and they both stared at the empty needle in her palm. It was done. Steve’s hand came up to cradle the little mark on his neck with a faltering smile. He laughed softly and did his best to disguise the fear in his eyes. “See you on the other side?” he said. 

Natasha nodded and held his hand tightly. At first he seemed fine, but soon he trembled and Natasha guided him to sit. The first convulsion tore through him and he cried out, his body contorting painfully. Natasha swiped her tears away, pushing down the sorrow that gripped her tightly. This was about more than just her feelings for him. This was seventy-five years of suffering and living in darkness. This was a long time coming. Steve writhed and Natasha brought him nearer, trying to soothe his burning skin. 

Steve relaxed a little and his eyes fluttered open. He panted, smiling softly when he saw her. He looked dazed, like he couldn’t quite figure out how they had gotten here. He reached up and idly ran his fingers through her hair. “I love you,” he breathed. 

He grunted, gasping through another painful contortion. She stroked his face, his hair. Natasha smiled weakly, feeling his heart slowly begin to beat beneath her palm. “I know,” she said softly. 

Steve smiled and his fingers slipped from her hair as tensed, his eyes squeezing shut as his muscles contracted painfully. His eyes never opened again. Natasha never left him as he fevered, writhing and groaning. She held him through this awful transformation, soothing him, reassuring him every step of the way until he finally, mercifully passed out. His breathing became easier then. Colour began to flush back into his cheeks, his heart beat strong and fast against her as she held him. In the distance she could hear a team looking for her, and she turned her gaze to the emerging stars, waiting for backup to arrive. 

* * *

The sun warmed Natasha's shoulders as she dug in the rich, dark earth. She was nearly cleared for active duty again and couldn’t wait to get back into it. But until then, she dug. She was determined to have her garden at last. 

“Do you mind if I help out?” His voice was the same. 

Natasha’s heart nearly exploded in her chest and she was afraid to turn around. She hadn’t been able to make herself see him. It had been nearly three weeks since she cured him, and she had avoided the medical wing as much as possible while he recovered and came to grips with everything he had lost. She had convinced herself that it was better for him if she stayed away. She needed time to process what she had lost and she knew it was cowardly, but she wasn’t ready to face him yet. And now here he was. Slowly she turned to face him— she wasn’t sure what she expected. Silver eyes, sharp teeth, pale skin maybe. The sun shone on his hair, giving it a golden glow. It was curious to think that she could miss someone who was right in front of her. His face was flushed a little, pink tinting his cheeks and lips. Stubble lined his face. Natasha's heart leapt when she saw him, beating so loud she thought he might hear it. There was a time when he would have. He would’ve sensed the heat rising in her, smelled the change in her scent. Nervous. She was nervous… Natasha made herself stand and face him.

Steve looked at her questioningly. “Ma’am?” 

It broke her heart to hear those words. He didn't know her. She knew he wouldn’t, but nothing could prepare her for the ugly well of bitter ache growing inside her. She kept her expression carefully neutral, trying not to let her hurt show on her face. There was a beat before Natasha finally found her voice.

"Natasha," she said. 

A boyish half smile spread across his face, like he was really trying to connect, to put himself out in the world. She finally met his eyes. They were blue, piercing and earnest. He looked sad. Lonely. He took in her red hair, freckled face, and green eyes and tilted his head slightly. 

“Natasha Romanoff?” He must’ve heard what she looked like. There weren’t many red-haired hunters. She nodded. “You’re the one who saved me—cured me, that is.” 

“I did,” she said softly. 

Steve seemed a little uncomfortable but he extended his hand toward her and she eyed it blankly before, hesitantly, she took his hand to return his handshake firmly. He was warm. If he noticed her missing finger, or scarred skin, he didn’t show it. 

"I'm Steve Rogers," he said. He looked like he had a whole speech planned, but didn’t know how to say it now. He fumbled with his words when he spoke. “I— I know you’ve done a lot for me. So, it’s nice to finally meet you.” he said, “And… Um, well, I wanted to thank you. I know I must’ve been… well a real goddamn bastard.” 

It occurred to her that maybe he hadn’t bumped into her by accident. He had been looking for her. He had come to find her. Something about that notion made her smile. Her heart ached, but she beamed at him, her other hand came up to clasp his. He seemed a bit flustered at her reaction, his words trailing off as his lips parted in a familiar expression of surprise. She thought it might break her to see him, and in a way maybe it did. He was a stranger but he was so familiar. He was so many things. But for now she could only smile wider, her eyes shining with tears. 

There were so many things that she could say, so many words that tangled and snarled themselves in her heart. None of them were good enough to express what she felt. It was enough that he was here. It was strange, but in spite of her grief, her pain, she was glad. He was free. 

She tilted her head a little and gave him a bright little laugh as she held his hand tightly in hers. 

“Hi Steve,” she said. “Welcome back.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So thanks for being good sports about my little April Fools joke lol. 
> 
> But-- Wow holy shit? It's done? I'm going to buy myself an entire chocolate bar now? 
> 
> Thank you all so very much for reading and sticking through this with me. If you cried actual tears, let me know lol. 
> 
> But Yeeta, you may cry, what about Clint and Bucky? What's the deal with Human Steve? Does he suck?  
Don't worry fam, there's an epilogue coming once I figure out how to format it. It's mostly written already ;)  
Follow me on twitter for artwork and updates (@YeetaNo)
> 
> Also If you like my writing, I'll be posting more stories very soon (mermaid AU anyone?). Cheers and stay safe everybody.


	27. Epilogue: The Long Way Around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the format is a little different-- This is a series of one shots that I've tried to keep in chronological order. It's also meant to be over a long period of time. Each new segment has its own title so you can find it easily. The perspectives shift between Steve and Natasha.

1\. Shadow Boxing

In his dreams he saw them often. Everyone he had served with, his friends, his loved ones all gathered in a room talking and laughing. They never spoke to or noticed him when he spoke. When he reached out to touch them, they were reduced to ash in his hands. The taste filled his mouth— acrid and bitter and he woke up shaking and alone. Steve panted, forcing himself to take deep, even breaths. Steve looked around his plain little square room. It had been a month since he had woken up from one nightmare to find himself in a new one. In all that time, his room remained empty of anything that would mark it as his. He liked it that way; it felt temporary, like he wouldn’t be here long, like he could go home if he wanted. Troubled, Steve threw off the covers and left the room, avoiding the little mirror hanging by the door on his way out. He didn’t need the reminder that there was something wrong about him. The doctors had said his eyes were a little different, but that was a massive understatement. When he first saw himself, saw his eyes reflecting very faintly just behind his pupils, he nearly shattered the mirror in alarm. He looked like one of them and he was reminded of that every time people looked at him. Everyone watched him. He didn’t know what they had expected, but he wasn’t it. 

Steve made his way to the gym like he had every night before and set to work on the punching bags after wrapping his fists. Averaging an hour or two of sleep every night wasn’t ideal, but sitting still made him feel sick and sleep was hardly a reprieve from this nightmare. Everyone he ever knew was gone. This unfamiliar place was suffocating. These people were suffocating. 

Steve hit the bag hard, the chain connecting it to the ceiling clinked as it swung away. This made sense, at least. He boxed with the bag until his arms flagged and his fists ached. This was night number twenty-five of bad dreams and boxing and his body struggled to keep up with the punishment he insisted on putting it through. The Shield doctors said he was different in that department, too. Seventy five years of being a monster had some lasting effects, it seemed. They said being infected for as long as he had been had changed him on a cellular level and he barely registered anything they said after that. The long and short of it was that he was stronger, healed faster, rarely fatigued, and who knew what else. He was just shy of being the thing he hated. Steve hit the bag hard, the lack of sleep wearing on him. He was exhausted, he knew, but this was all he had left. He pushed himself further, ignoring the protesting of his knuckles. The skin on his right hand gave first, splitting open and oozing blood into his wrap. He grunted in frustration and smacked the bag again, delivering blow after blow with increasing hysteria. He could feel himself losing it, becoming more and more unhinged and he made himself stop. He nearly collapsed when he did. His knees buckled and he held the bag for support as he breathed through the black spots dancing in his peripheral vision. 

“Trouble sleeping?” 

Steve whirled to face the hunter entering the gym. It must be later than he thought. A quick glance to the window told him that it would be sunrise soon. How stupid to be caught out like this— bleeding and exhausted. Having the prying concern of strangers was the last thing he wanted. Steve unwrapped his hands stiffly and cleared his throat a bit. 

“Something like that,” he said. 

The other man just set his things down in the corner and made his way into the room. 

“Sam Wilson,” he said, wrapping his own hands with quiet focus. 

Steve studied him a little. He had a calm presence about him— it was hard for him to get a read on him. But he seemed not to judge Steve’s disheveled appearance and for that, he was grateful. 

“Steve Rogers,” he replied tersely. 

Sam gave him a wry little half smile. “I kinda gathered that.” 

Steve gave him a humourless snort and turned to leave. To retreat back to his room, then later, the woods. He wasn’t cleared for active duty yet and he couldn’t stand to be around anyone. It only reminded him that he didn’t belong here. He had lost everything. These people treated him like something he wasn’t. Some looked up to him, others looked like they hated him. And Steve couldn’t blame them for that. 

“Steve—” 

He snapped to attention and faced Sam who still looked at him with calm patience. It was enough to break him from that untethered anger swirling inside him. “If you ever want a partner, to… y’know, hit back, I’m here most mornings bright and early.” 

It was a simple offer, but it felt like a big ask. Steve studied the floor for a moment and nodded, unable to sort through what this meant for him enough to answer Sam. No one else was in his corner here, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted them to be, but Sam offered nonetheless. 

“See you around then,” Sam said as he began work on the bag. 

Steve paused in the doorway, “Sure,” he said as he left the room. 

* * *

2\. Nothing at All

Natasha sparred with Sam, trying to regain her strength and conditioning. She was cleared for active duty, but was kept close until she was fully recovered. He tried not to let it show, but she sometimes caught the look of shock he had when he looked at her. She knew her eyes were unsettling now when they caught the light. She tried not to let it bother her, she knew it wasn’t his fault that he had that little glimmer of panic. She had felt the same way about the infected at one point. But after everything she had been through, it didn’t really frighten her so much anymore. Natasha caught Sam off guard, her fist glancing his chin— she was certain he’d block her. They both paused, her backing off a little to let him collect himself. 

“Did I get you?” she said, fists raised. 

Sam rubbed his chin a little and shook it off. “It’s fine,” he said, “my head wasn’t in it.” 

“I’m not that scary, am I?” she said, a fleeting smile gracing her lips. 

Sam gave her a slow smile in return, “I mean you were kinda terrifying,” he said, “but that’s not all that was on my mind, I guess.” 

Natasha lowered her hands with a little frown. “What’s bothering you?” 

Sam eyed her carefully before turning to retrieve his water from the floor. “Cap’s been missing for six days now,” he said coolly. “He owed me a sparring match.” 

The mention of Steve made Natasha’s blood run cold. She had stayed away from him as much as she could. It hurt to watch him, to have him close, to see him. He was a stranger to her now— so guarded and closed off from everyone. It felt like a betrayal to her Steve when she wanted him still. He wasn’t her Steve. He was someone else. 

It hardly mattered, she told herself. Fury had tried to recruit him to Shield again. Nobody really knew what he had said, but Steve disappeared the next day. It was hard not to blame him, or think him a coward. But it didn’t stop Natasha from worrying about him. She hated to think that he was wasting the life she had taken from her Steve. She killed him so Rogers could live and now he ran away. It was hard to justify her choice when he was proving to be such a disappointment. She constantly felt that she chose wrong and she resented him for it— he was nothing like her Steve. He was nothing like Captain America either. He was nothing to her at all. 

Instead she just hummed indifferently and smoothed the hair from her face. “Maybe he’s not what we all thought he was,” she said. 

Sam just nodded briefly, not wanting to press the issue further. They resumed their match, fighting unarmed for a while before Sam switched it up, suggesting armed sparring. Natasha agreed with a little smile. It had been a while since she had trained with her axes. She wanted to get back into real field work as soon as possible. She had lost the life that she wanted with her Steve and she couldn’t bear to try and rebuild that. The man she loved was gone and she had to try and move on from that. 

They moved to the centre of the room, wielding wooden practice weapons, when the door swung open and Steve stepped in. They both watched him in surprise, clearly thinking he had left for good. When he saw them, he shifted his bag a little. 

“Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t think there’d be anyone in here.” 

He turned to leave again when Sam stepped forward. “Where the hell have you been, man?” Sam called to him. 

Steve paused and studied the floor with an expression that was so intimately familiar to Natasha that she froze at the sight of him, a painful pressure squeezed her heart and she turned away. Why did he have to look so much like him? Why did he have to act so much like him? 

“It was a long shot,” Steve said— even his voice was familiar, “I went back to the Shield facility that I— that Peggy… sorry, Carter…” he fumbled, looking for the right words, “the one that was destroyed. I was looking for my things.”

Sam shot Natasha a disbelieving look. “By yourself?” 

Steve stepped into the room a little and set his things down. “Yeah.” 

“Steve— how did you manage that?” 

He shrugged and withdrew a few items from the bag. “I don’t know, I used to do that kind of thing all the time. In and outs we called them. It’s not like I was far.” 

Natasha turned to shoot Sam a look as he approached Steve with interest. Nobody travelled alone, it was suicide. 

“Did you check back in with command?” Natasha found herself saying. She sounded like a stranger in her own ears. 

Steve didn’t turn from his bag. “No, I didn’t know protocol.” 

Sam frowned a little. “Then how did you get back in here without anyone seeing you?”

Steve looked up at him briefly. “In and out,” he said with a hint of a smile. Before Sam could ask him anything else, Steve stood, holding two strange looking items. 

“Do you have a weapons training range?” he asked. 

This piqued Natasha’s interest. She’d be lying if she said that she had never wanted to see Captain America in action. He was always portrayed holding a shield, but stories varied wildly about him fighting. Some hunters claimed he had the strength of ten men, others said that he used that shield in actual combat. She had also heard some say that he just ripped infected apart with his bare hands. All of those things sounded equally ridiculous and untrue to her. 

Sam pointed him in the direction of the training range. “Nat, maybe you can set him up, while I go and… y’know, let people know you’re back.” 

Steve was already making his way to the corner area with a strange focus. “Thanks,” he said. 

Sam shook his head and shot Natasha a little look of concern. _ Please watch him _, he seemed to say. She was bitter when Sam left and she was alone with Steve. Begrudgingly, she came up alongside him to see what he was doing. He had a strange knife, the grip had metal rings that he fit his fingers through like brass knuckles. In his other hand he held a club that looked a bit like a stun baton. It looked strangely handmade, a solid wooden handle that ended in a heavy metal attachment with wicked spikes. 

Steve noticed her watching him and shot her a brief glance. His pupils reflected a little and it nearly made her heart stop. “They’re trench weapons,” he explained. But she was totally lost as to what he meant. She looked at him, puzzled and he studied her briefly. Begrudgingly, he turned so she could see them better. “The Great War,” he explained, “My father would’ve used something similar, I guess.” he turned the strange knife over in his grip. “Trench knife,” he said examining the blade, “and a trench club,” he said bringing the baton up to show her, “they’re for close quarters combat.” 

Natasha frowned a little. Distance weapons or weapons that extended reach were typical. Knives were always last resort weapons. “When the infected first appeared, we lost so many of our guys. We didn’t know how to fight them. We’d shoot ‘em and they’d just keep coming…”

Natasha’s lips parted, she’d heard some stories about that time, but Steve would know firsthand what it was like when the infected appeared. Steve rested the end of the trench club in his palm. “If it ain’t broke…” 

She couldn’t hide her puzzlement. It was so strange to hear him speak like this, or tell her any of this at all. For a moment it felt like she was talking to her Steve and it filled her with terrible sadness. Steve mistook her look for something else and thoughtfully brushed the spiked end of the weapon with his thumb. “We figured out cracking their skulls in was a sure way to kill ‘em.” 

His eyes lit up as he seemed to remember something amusing. “Gabe— of the boys said to kill ‘em like Dracula,” he said, miming a stabbing motion with his knife. 

She had no idea what he was talking about, but the memory pulled his lips into a gentle smile that made her heart ache. 

“I guess that worked too. Hearts and heads were the kill orders after that.” 

Natasha couldn’t stand to hear him anymore. She couldn’t stand to see him like this. It hurt far too much. She stepped away with an impassive little smile and Steve shook himself and his guard was up again. He was all business. Natasha resolved that she could be, too. 

“Spar with me?” she asked. “Maybe you can show me how you fought.” 

He looked like he might refuse at first, but he just nodded, setting aside his weapons. Natasha handed him the padded baton and a rubber knife instead. She withdrew her own padded axe and practice knife. Steve swung them experimentally, they were weighted as if they were the real thing. 

“Don’t go easy on me,” she warned. He glanced at her, his pupils flashing faintly in the light. She swallowed her heart and charged him, lunging forward with a quick swing of her axe. Her sparring partners were trained to step back, to avoid those attacks and use their weapons to gain some range, but not Steve. He timed her swing and stepped in, closing the space between them, his fist clenching his knife handle tightly while he used his baton to trap her other arm. He stopped short of punching her in the mouth and Natasha imagined the brass knuckles there instead— he’d have her spitting out her teeth like hard candies if he used his trench knife. 

What a strange fighting style, get in close, disarm the enemy by knocking out their teeth and trapping their claws. It was bold and risky and she was interested to see what he would do next. But her eyes must’ve flashed as she watched him because Steve froze, his lips parting in horror and Natasha used that to sweep his leg and send him crashing to the floor. He rolled and shook himself a little, but Natasha rushed him, wanting to test him. Or maybe punish him. She couldn't be bothered to think about which one it was. She swung her axe, using her reach to slash at him and he blocked the swing with his knife, directing her axe downward. He swung the blade up, and the rubber weapon slashed her wrist. If it had been a real knife, her wrist would’ve popped open, tendons severed. 

Natasha let go of the blade and stabbed her knife forward, thrusting it at his chest aiming for his heart. Steve let go of his baton and caught her wrist, his grip tight on her. That was a strange move, he could’ve used the baton to force her back. Instead he used her momentum and threw her onto the floor. She felt a strange euphoria as she hit the mat. She hadn’t felt this good in a long time— it made her smile savagely. She quickly tumbled to her feet and tackled him before he could recover. Steve went down with a cry, and Natasha moved to plunge her knife downward, but Steve knocked her hand away. His hand came up to slash her throat, flexed like he had claws. His hand paused just shy of her windpipe, the pad of his thumb rested over her pulse. They both panted for a moment, watching the other in shock. Steve’s teeth were bared like an infected. He fought like an infected. His eyes drifted to his hand, his pupils flashing briefly as he slowly relaxed his grip. Immediately, he sat up, looking sick and Natasha moved away, mouth set in a hard line. Steve curled, drawing his knees up and pressing his hands to his eyes in frustrated silence. 

Natasha watched him for a moment before turning her gaze to the floor contemplatively. She didn’t know where that sadistic glee came from, but she suspected it came from the same place Steve’s reaction came from. It was muscle memory, a reminder that they had been on the other side of this. Whether she liked it or not, it connected them. For now, there were no others like them. 

“We’re not quite the same anymore, are we?” she asked him softly. Steve laughed bitterly and ran a hand through his hair. His expression foreign as he watched the floor. Natasha had never seen him look so grieved, so angry. 

“No,” he said quietly, “I guess not.” 

* * *

3\. Mission Statement

Logistically, Fury’s decision to partner Natasha with Steve made sense. They were both cured, both changed and enhanced by the infection, both capable hunters, but Natasha wasn’t happy about the partnership. Steve was nice enough, but he was standoffish and guarded around everyone and she didn’t know how to feel about him anymore. It hurt to have him close. He gave her polite smiles from across the room, courteous nods whenever she passed him in the hall, and curt _ Romanoff _s when she saw him in the training room. In a way she was grateful for this distance. Natasha was wracked with grief, with guilt whenever she saw him. It felt like a compromise that she was still so in love with him. He was still here, still in front of her, but it wasn’t him. It didn’t seem fair to the memory of the Steve she had known and loved that she pined for this stranger. So she endeavored to leave him alone, and for the most part, she was successful. But now Fury had them heading to Geneva together to deliver the cure to the colony there. Hydra was rallying again and becoming more active in other parts of Europe as they planned a counter attack. Word was spreading fast that there was a cure, and they needed to get it to as many Shield and colony labs as possible before Hydra caught wind of what they were doing. But it was days on the road now and things were uncomfortable to say the least. Natasha was determined to make herself into the perfect partner. She followed orders, had Steve’s back, and stayed emotionally distant. Steve tried for small-talk at first, and she did her best to be professional, but he seemed to sense that she wasn’t being genuine with him and they quickly fell into silence for the rest of the trip. 

But they didn’t have time for idle chit chat, they were on a tight schedule— the cure didn’t last in their portable cold-storage for longer than twelve days at the most and would take them at least ten to get to Geneva from the colony. And that was if they were willing to pull ten to twelve hour days. They had lost time on day six when the road and bridges on the route had been destroyed and they had to detour. They had been going day and night ever since. She didn’t have the same unrelenting stamina that Steve had, but she did her best to keep up. It was dark now, but Natasha could see as clearly as day. She walked just behind Steve in total silence as he forged ahead. They were coming up on the next safehouse soon. She sighed and adjusted her bag containing the cure. She would be glad to get there at this point, she wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take. 

Steve came to a sudden stop ahead of her as they rounded the bend and she nearly bumped into him. Natasha frowned and peered over his shoulder to see hundreds of eyes staring back at her. Natasha’s heart stopped at the sight and fear gripped her insides. There were hundreds of them. They were scattered across the road like cattle. There was no way around— assuming the horde wouldn’t just tear them apart where they stood. She could make out their details in the dark and shot a worried look at Steve. He was tense and unmoving beside her, his jaw clenched tightly. The horde shifted as they caught sight of her and Steve and she clenched her fist tightly as she moved back half a step. But the horde collectively shuffled, their gazes flashing as they stared at the two of them. Natasha let out a shaky breath and Steve took a hesitant step forward. Some of the infected snapped and growled softly, but many of them whined hungrily and turned their gazes elsewhere. Steve shot Natasha a grim smile and pushed onward. 

“Let’s keep going,” he said. 

It was obvious that he was deeply uncomfortable that the horde seemed to count the two of them as infected still. But Natasha steeled herself and followed Steve through the horde. An older woman infected snarled at him, teeth bared, and he grimaced. She seemed to watch them as they carefully wove their way between the infected. Some turned to look at them as they passed, growling softly, their expression frozen in desperate hunger. Natasha had rarely seen them so docile, so curious. Steve moved silently ahead of her and Natasha did her best to keep up, but the infected to her right turned and stepped into her path, cutting her off as it moved in to inspect her a little more carefully and she willed herself to stay calm. Natasha met the infected’s gaze and bared her teeth as she had seen Steve do once, and it backed off a little, growling softly. Cut off from Steve, Natasha shouldered through a different path, drawing the gaze of several infected who turned on her. When she turned to move away, she froze. Steve stopped ahead of her, noticing that she was no longer behind him. 

“Romanoff,” he called softly, drawing the attention of the infected around him. 

But Natasha couldn’t move. She was frozen in place as she stared at the familiar face in front of her. Her lips parted, grief pulling at her heart as she looked into the silver eyes of her partner. Clint stared vacantly, his face flecked with blood as he watched her with waning interest. He was about to turn and shuffle away, but Natasha grabbed his hand, causing him to snarl and bare his teeth. The infected around him turned and did the same, watching Natasha with keen interest. They were hungry, snuffling and gnashing their teeth as they scented the air, searching for blood. Natasha knew they could hear her heartbeat, but her smell was off and they snarled in frustration. Natasha guided Clint to follow her, tugging him along through the crowd of infected. He snapped and resisted, but stumbled after her. She caught up with Steve and he frowned deeply when he saw Clint. She knew this was stupid, but there was no way in hell she was leaving him like this. Not again. 

She shouldered past Steve, determined to save Clint. He had waited long enough. This time Steve followed her, as they made it through the horde and moved quietly toward the safehouse that was a few kilometers away. When they were away from the horde Steve grabbed her arm and jerked her to face him. He was angry, his eyes flashing as he gripped her. 

“What the hell Romanoff?” he breathed.

“I’m not leaving him,” she said, shrugging out of Steve’s grip. “He was my partner.” 

Steve shot a glance at Clint and his brow furrowed in confusion. “No. No way,” he said, voice tense and low. When he saw the cool defiance in her eyes he leaned in closer, his face tense with anger. “I’m sorry for whatever happened, but this is crazy.” 

Natasha glanced at Clint, who watched her with growing intensity. He had saved her life once— if she left him now, she might never find him again. Clint seemed to be trying to figure out what was different about her and Steve and he snapped and gnashed his teeth. The cure vials and syringes felt heavy in her bag. They were carrying four doses in total… would they really miss one? But before she could move, Clint leaned in, taking in her scent again. He seemed to find something off about it, and he shrieked and lunged at Natasha, his claws slicing her arm. Natasha stumbled back with a cry and Steve caught him from behind, pinning his arms to his body as he writhed and howled in his grasp. From behind them, Natasha could hear the horde come alive, answering Clint’s shrieks with a hair-raising chorus of cries as they headed toward them. Fumbling with her kit, Natasha dropped her bag and withdrew the cure vial and a syringe. Steve cried out in pain and frustration as he held Clint from her. 

“This isn’t our mission Romanoff!” He shouted. 

But she didn’t look at him, she stayed calm as she drew the cure into the syringe. She faced Clint, his arm slipping free from Steve’s grasp. She stabbed the needle into Clint’s neck and met Steve’s livid gaze. 

“No,” she said, “but this is mine.” 

The horde drew closer in a flurry of gnashing teeth, furious eyes, crushing bodies. Clint weakened and Steve slung him onto his back with a frustrated grunt. 

They barely made it out alive. Bursting into the safehouse, Steve dragged Clint through the door and Natasha followed. She fell to the floor, panting, and he bolted the door behind him. They had lost the horde for now, but they hadn’t made it out unscathed. Natasha felt the hot trail of blood streaming down her body from the gashes torn into her leg and side. She stripped off her uniform with a wince, throwing it in a bloody heap on the floor. Her underlayer followed suit and she laid back to inspect the tears in her flesh. They would definitely need stitches. Steve took one look at her, bloody and prone on the floor and immediately searched the room for the med kit. He looked just as beat up as she did, his cheekbone was bruised, purple spreading across his face and under his eye. Studying his face, Natasha noted the burst blood vessels spreading brilliant red into the white of his eye. It was a strangely beautiful contrast with his blue iris. Though his uniform hid most of the damage, Natasha could see blood dripping from his fingers. When he found the kit, he knelt at her side and pulled her up, seating her in a chair he had pulled from the corner of the room. Then he set to work disinfecting his hands, and then her wound. Natasha hissed at the sharp sting of alcohol on her skin. Steve stitched her shut methodically, working with quiet focus as she watched. On missions, Steve was a force to be reckoned with. She loved to watch him work, admiring his grit, grace, determination. He was a lot like when he was infected, moving with lithe agility, though he lacked the strange predatory power he had then. Steve flicked his gaze to her when he was finished, reading something in her expression that made him close off and he moved away from her. 

They fell into silence, waiting for daybreak. Clint was passed out on one of the bedrolls, his breaths even, colour returning to his cheeks. Natasha tended to him silently, making sure he was comfortable and smoothing his flushed skin. His heart beat strong and fast and she sagged in relief. After a moment, Natasha mustered the courage to look at Steve again, uniform still on, stock still beside her. 

“Steve, let me look at you.” 

He turned to face her, chin tilted slightly and watched her. He was visibly angry with her and coolly unzipped his uniform, then stripped off the layer underneath. Natasha inspected him, fingers gently examining his injuries. She could already see the welts forming, angry and purple on his skin. Some minor lacerations wept blood, though those could easily be patched. The cut on his arm would need stitches. Natasha motioned for him to come closer and he sat in front of her, taking her place on the chair. She came around his side, disinfecting the wound and stitching it closed with practiced fingers. When she was done, her gaze flicked to his back, taking in the array of terrible, ugly bruises marring his skin. Natasha was oddly fascinated by the sight. She knew how it felt, but she wasn’t used to seeing him like this— injured. Her fingers grazed his back, skimming down his ribs gently until goosebumps pebbled his flesh. She breathed, tracing the ridges of him, studying the strange sensation of his warm body beneath her fingers. 

“Don’t,” he said softly, looking over his shoulder to watch her. 

Natasha withdrew her hands from him like she had been burned. Steve stood and paced across the room to retrieve the bloodied clothes from the floor. An awful mixture of guilt and hurt settled on Natasha and she turned from him to busy herself with tending to Clint in the tiny space of the safehouse. Fury made a huge mistake putting them together on this assignment. 

“You could’ve jeopardized this whole operation,” Steve’s voice was quiet from across the room. Natasha flushed and couldn’t turn to look at him. “We deliver the cure to the labs, we don’t make those judgement calls on how to use it.” 

Natasha bristled. She knew he was right, but it was hard not to be hurt that he couldn’t remember what Clint had done for her. He was infected by Madame Hydra like Steve was, he had saved her life. Steve wouldn’t even be here getting angry at her if it weren’t for him.

“I know,” she said quietly as she covered Clint in a blanket. “I owe him my life. I’m just… trying to make things right.” 

She could feel the anger and hurt and resentment toward Steve bubble dangerously close to the surface and she struggled to push it down, but he seemed determined to pick a fight with her. 

“At what cost? Getting us all killed? Failing to deliver the cure? Romanoff you know better.” 

Natasha’s hands curled into fists and she fixed her gaze on Clint’s unconscious face. Her bitter anger boiled over and she lashed out at him.

“You wouldn’t be saying that if it was Bucky.” 

She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth, but she couldn’t take them back. They were out there now, landing between them with a terrible weight. Tension wound in Natasha, but she was frozen. She didn’t know what to say to him anymore. Steve’s silence was palpable. 

“What?”

She turned to face him, and her heart sank seeing the tightness in his face, the confusion and frustration with her. Nobody gave him straight answers and he was angry, plagued by everyone’s expectations, their standoffishness. She swallowed, wishing he would say something, anything. 

“I don’t know you, Romanoff. But you seem to act awfully familiar with me.” 

Natasha turned her gaze to the floor and her tongue darted out to lick her dry lips. 

“Sorry,” was all she could muster.

But her weak apology didn’t even seem to register with him. He looked like his world was falling apart. She wondered if this is what his expression had been when he woke up to find himself here.

“He’s alive?”

She shoved her hair from her face, doing her best to keep her expression carefully neutral. “Yes.” 

“How do you know?” 

She didn’t want to tell him. If she did, it would mean reopening these old wounds that were just starting to heal. Steve didn’t seem pleased with her lack of response. He took a step forward, eyes bright with anger, jaw clenched tightly. He seemed to vibrate with energy— unasked questions, frustration, guilt burned in him. 

“What is that?” Steve breathed, he had taken a step closer to Natasha, breaking her from her thoughts, “Why do you look at me with such _ disappointment _?” 

Natasha blanched, and really looked at him. Really saw him. It nearly broke her. She was content with living with the memory of the Steve she had known. She was resolved to bury her heart. She hadn’t realized he had noticed her, quietly watching, quietly suffering. She hated herself for letting it show. But Steve was frustrated, his voice loud in the small space of the safe house. 

“What did I do to you? When I was…” Steve paused, searching for a word, “different… What happened between us? Did I do something? Did I hurt you?” 

His words make her heart sink. It dawned on Natasha that everyone was reacting to a version of him that he wasn’t, whether that was as an Old One, Captain America, or an outdated relic of a time no one remembered or cared to remember. He could never be just Steve Rogers. That went for Natasha as well. As much as she loved him, the man he was now was such a stranger to her. It wasn’t anything he had done. This wasn’t his fault, and yet she had put him in a little box in her mind, compartmentalized him because it was easier to hold onto her pain and think of him as a collection of stories and nothing more. But she never even tried to know him, she treated him like a stranger, like an outcast, like she hated him and he had to carry that with him. Natasha swallowed hard. She hadn’t been treating him like a person.

“No—” she said softly.

“Then what! What is this with you, Romanoff? What is it about me that makes you so…” 

Steve trailed off before he finished that thought and Natasha swallowed hard. Maybe he deserved an answer. She hadn’t been fair to him— it didn’t matter what she felt she reminded herself. 

“You really want to know what happened?” She asked quietly. 

He raised his chin indignantly, his jaw clenched tightly, but he faltered and Natasha was struck by how afraid he was of this. “I know enough. I was a monster. I—“

“You were so much more than that,” she said softly. 

Steve’s look of surprise was so familiar, so quintessentially him that it made her heart leap into her throat and she looked away. It hurt, but she could put aside whatever she felt. She owed him that much. “In the end… You asked me to—”

“Stop,” he said. 

Natasha glanced up at him standing battered and alone as he studied the floor. He looked fragile, somehow. Small in a way she couldn’t define. His expression was so lost, so uncertain that it gave her pause. His gaze flicked to hers and whatever he saw there made him shy away. 

“Forget it,” he said as he turned and picked his bloody uniform. “I’m going to do some recon.” 

With that, Steve left the safehouse, the door slamming shut behind him. Natasha exhaled shakily and rubbed her eyes tiredly. As he lay on the thin little bedroll, Clint shifted uneasily and she smoothed his fevered skin and rested her hand over his steadily beating heart.

* * *

4\. Till the End of the Line

Steve willed himself to stay calm, to try and push himself through this, to fight, to save his friend— anything. But he was terrified. Bucky stared down at him with utter disdain as he straddled him, his good arm reaching up to grip his throat tightly. 

“Steve,” he sneered, leaning in close, “I owe you for that little stunt you pulled at Hydra HQ—“ 

Bucky had ambushed the colony outside of Toulouse, appearing like a nightmare to wreak havoc, to maim and destroy. When he saw him, Steve had run after him like an idiot, leaving Romanoff behind. Bucky's silver eyes were wide, lips twisted into an ugly smile. He didn’t know him. 

“But you’re different now,” he said, voice laced with disgust. “I guess they got you, in the end.” 

Steve’s brows furrowed, he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what Bucky meant. 

“Was she worth it?” Bucky asked with a terrible smile on his face. 

Steve squirmed and grasped his friend’s wrist where he pinned him. Bucky looked at him expectantly, but he didn’t know what to say to him. Those eyes were so familiar… so cold and filled with sadistic glee. Steve went cold, fear settling in his stomach like a pit. Madame Hydra— those were her eyes.

“I guess you don’t know anymore, huh?” he mused and pressed Steve’s pulse with his thumb. Steve grunted, the feeling of Bucky’s claws digging into his skin sent a wave of fear through him. He thought he was over the worst of that feeling, but his time with Madame Hydra had affected him deeply and those feelings were rising now in him in a terrible panic that paralyzed him. 

“Bucky—” he said, looking up at his friend desperately. He wished he didn’t sound so scared. He wished he didn’t sound like such a child. 

Bucky’s eyes narrowed and he forced Steve’s head back. “Don’t look at me like that,” he warned. “You don’t get to feel sorry for me, Steve. Not you.”

Steve wanted to understand what he meant, but nothing he was saying made sense to him. Bucky’s eyes flashed with malice as he watched him, his claws digging painfully into Steve’s flesh. 

“You’re so disgustingly human. I can’t even laugh at that.” 

Steve tried not to hyperventilate in Bucky’s grip. He could feel Madame Hydra’s claws sink into him, her laugh curled around the back of his mind. His fingers felt numb as he held his friend weakly. If Bucky was actively strangling him, it would make sense that he would be feeling dizzy, or that his world was spinning out of control. His heart raced. The Old Ones, Madame Hydra, all of this made him sick. It dredged up that day in his hazy memory and he trembled. 

“What’s wrong Stevie?” Bucky’s voice taunted, “You got the girl in the end, right? How come you don’t seem any happier?” 

Steve couldn’t answer even if he wanted to. His body was shutting down. His mind was shutting down. 

“The three of us could’ve had so much fun together…”

Steve couldn’t breathe. Madame Hydra would kill him. He would be tortured. He would be infected and set loose on his team. He would lose control. Bucky moved his fingers away from his throat to tap his chest in time with the wild beat of his heart. 

“This was always what was wrong with you,” he said, hatefully tracing a little ‘X’ over his heart with his claw, “I can fix that. I can make you better again. We can fix Red, too.”

Steve could only watch, he felt like he was floating above himself. His body wouldn’t move. Bucky raised his hand to his chin thoughtfully. 

“What did that Madame Hydra do to you again?” he asked, reaching up and biting his thumb. Steve felt himself shake when the dark, infected blood oozed and ran down Bucky’s hand. He traced its path in terrified anticipation. “Something like this?” 

Bucky shoved his bloody hand over Steve’s mouth. He could taste it— bitter, _ familiar _. His body finally responded. Steve thrashed wildly, tears tracking down his temples into his hairline. Fear, sharp and metallic, took him over. He was suffocating. He screamed and rolled and Bucky let him up, patting his chest with a cruel laugh. But his mind was racing with a singular thought— infected. He was infected.

* * *

Natasha heard Steve cry out and raced toward the sound. Stupid! She should’ve known he might do this. Bucky was his last connection to his life, his friend. She should’ve kept a better watch on him. But Bucky appeared and he ran after him. When she found him, Bucky was standing over him while he shook, terrified at his feet. Bucky looked up, a hateful smile spreading across his face. 

“Hey, Red,” he purred before giving Steve a nudge with his foot, “Your girl’s here.” But Steve was nearly catatonic and Bucky frowned, turning away from him. 

“He’s not listening,” he pouted. 

Natasha eyed him warily before sheathing her blade. With Steve out of the picture, she had to approach this carefully. Bucky smiled at the sight and she kept her hand on the hilt. 

“Oh I missed you, Red,” he said, voice laced with amusement. “Steve’s such a fucking square now— look at him.” He planted his foot on Steve’s side and pushed him over. Steve collapsed, shaking. He seemed far away from them. “But that’ll change soon.” 

“Stop it,” Natasha said, taking a half step closer. The cure was in her waist bag, and she itched to take it out and stab him with it. Bucky’s eyes narrowed in anger as he watched her.

“You ruined everything,” he hissed, “You and Steve both.” 

Natasha frowned, she didn’t remember what he was talking about. That seemed to set him off and he stalked toward her. “We had it, we had everything! We fucked up Hydra, we could’ve done the same to the colonies. We could’ve scrubbed everything and started new. No factions, no bullshit. Just chaos.” 

Listening to his words, it struck Natasha how lonely he was. He hated everything in equal measure and there was no place for him in the world. Not with Hydra, Shield, nothing satisfied him. His desires were shallow and childish, but they spoke of something much deeper— a longing for connection. She didn’t know what the three of them had done when she was infected, but seeing him now, she had the sense that he had finally found something he felt was worth living for. He had found his place with her and Steve and they left him. It made her sad. 

Bucky grimaced, his expression turning hateful and anguished. “Don’t look at me like that!” he demanded, lunging toward her. “You have no right! You don’t get to do this to me!” 

He grabbed Natasha, his grip painful as he searched her for answers that she couldn’t give him. He looked like he wanted to kill her. His breath was cool on her face, his teeth bared and sharp. 

Natasha moved to draw her blade, but from behind them, Steve raced in with a frenzied howl and tackled Bucky, knocking them both over. Natasha rolled and fumbled for the cure syringe in her pack. She held it like a knife and struggled to her feet. Steve fought viciously, like he wasn’t quite in control of his actions. He smashed his fist into Bucky’s face in hysterical fury, taking advantage of Bucky’s missing arm to pound his unguarded side. Bucky grabbed Steve and clocked him hard before scrambling backward to kick him square in the chest, sending him crashing to the floor. Natasha charged forward as Bucky pinned Steve again. But Steve was ready this time and used his legs to trap Bucky’s good arm, twisting him around on the floor. Natasha raised the cure syringe, ready to inject him with it, when Bucky spotted it in her hand and his eyes widened in fury. He twisted violently, fighting against Steve’s tight grip until he broke free. He caught Steve with a swift punch to the jaw while he struggled for control and then threw him into Natasha. They crashed to the floor and she let go of the syringe. 

Natasha hit the ground hard and Steve just barely managed to get his hand behind her head to lessen the impact. He was dazed on top of her, his lip bloody. She struggled from under him as gently as she could and he slumped to the floor. She checked him briefly and turned to face Bucky, expecting a counter attack. 

But he stood with the syringe in his palm, considering it with such terrible anger before meeting her gaze. “Is this what you came here to do?” he asked.

Natasha’s lips parted and Steve struggled to sit, still dazed. “It wasn’t enough that Steve turned you back— took you from me. You had to take him too? You’d rather be this— human and miserable— than be like me?” He accused, “I wasn’t enough for either of you? I wasn’t good enough to stick around for?” Bucky laughed, but it was empty, hollow. “So, what, you were gonna infect me with your misery? You came here to kill me, too?” 

Steve grunted and sat up, looking woozy. Natasha’s gaze flitted to him and she cradled him, trying to help him up. 

“Answer me!” he shouted, snapping Natasha’s attention back to him. But Steve was the one to answer. 

“To save you, Buck,” he said quietly. 

He laughed, hysterically, pained as he watched the two of them. “Fuck you,” he said, brows knit into an anguished expression. He looked like he might shatter as he struggled to comprehend why both of them had returned. He seemed so genuinely upset. “Why?” 

“You’re my friend,” Steve said, tiredly wiping his bloody mouth, “Bucky, you’re my friend.” 

Bucky’s lips twisted in a sneer, his chest heaved as he panted and shook his head. He couldn’t even laugh at that response. He never understood what love was. Natasha suspected he had always hated what they had. He always taunted her about her relationship with Steve, but he kept coming back, kept asking questions and studying her and watching them like he wanted to understand what they meant to one another. Maybe he wanted to know what it felt like to have others care about him. 

Watching him crumble now made her heart ache for him. Bucky tilted his chin indignantly, like he couldn’t stand their collective looks of heartbreak for him. Steve came back for him because he loved him, and Natasha felt she owed him. Bucky was miserable and didn’t deserve to be. He deserved to come home. He looked like he hated that they showed love for him at all. 

“Fuck you,” he said quietly, “fuck both of you.” 

Bucky squeezed the syringe in his hand— he would break it. Natasha’s heart dropped and she tensed to go after it, to stop him. Instead, he swiftly brought the syringe up and injected it into his neck. She went cold and Steve froze next to her. Throwing the syringe to the floor, Bucky looked at them both with bitter anger and Natasha understood. He had lived for over seventy-five years and had no purpose. They had taken that from him. 

“I hope human me causes you as much misery as you have,” he said, voice breaking, “I hope he dies before you make it home. I hope he’s never happy.” He stared at Steve, “I hope he rejects you the way you rejected her,” he said, looking at Natasha. 

She couldn’t help the pained expression that flickered across her face, or the awful emptiness in her heart. She couldn’t look at Steve to see what his expression was. But it gave Bucky one last twist of sadistic satisfaction before he faltered and collapsed to his knees. 

“I hate you. I hate both of you,” he said, unable to hide the tremor in his voice. He began to tremble and shake with an empty laugh. He seized and cried out, his veins bulging from his neck. Steve stood and went to his friend, Bucky just watched him, his expression so scared, so pained as he approached. Natasha exhaled shakily and pushed herself to join them. 

Bucky fought Steve off at first when he knelt next to him, his fist weakly glancing off of him as he shook on the floor. But Steve wouldn’t be moved— he was steadfast and unshakable. Natasha knelt with him, unzipping her jacket and gently placing it under Bucky’s head. He looked angry with her for doing it, but his eyes rolled back and he choked back a little cry as another convulsion tore through him, his muscles contracting painfully. He slumped, coming back to awareness to watch them both as they leaned over him as he fevered and squirmed. Bucky startled suddenly and tried to sit and Natasha gently held him down, her hand over his heart. From beneath her palm she could feel his heartbeat and she glanced at him knowingly. 

His eyes narrowed and his lips twisted into a sneer, but she could tell he was afraid. Steve took his hand and Bucky just shut his eyes.

“I’m right here, Buck,” he said quietly, “You’re gonna be okay.” 

Bucky convulsed and writhed painfully and his expression softened, brows knit in confusion and anxiety. When he saw the two of them still there, still concerned and patient and worried for him, he finally relaxed a little. His eyes fluttered shut and he never reopened them as the cure began to painfully work its way through his body. 

They waited, neither of them leaving his side as the cure burned through him. Steve watched uneasily as Bucky seized and squirmed and screamed his way through this painful process until he passed out. He became quiet, his breathing eased and Natasha moved to cover him with her jacket and smooth his hair from his scarred face. It would be a while before he woke up, but his last words really shook her. She wished she could have given him some measure of peace— maybe this was his way of finding it. 

Steve just buried his face into his hands next to her, collapsing back and shaking heavily. It seemed like he bore the weight of the world on his back. She couldn’t help but pity him. He breathed, trying to collect himself enough to speak. 

“He infected me,” he said quietly. 

His words sent a shock through Natasha. Selfishly, she imagined his eyes would be silver again, that his teeth would be pointed when he looked back at her. But the change hadn’t happened. His eyes were still that perfect, earnest blue. 

Steve trembled, “I don’t want to turn again,” he said, voice breaking, “I don’t care if there’s a cure. If I become like that— I don’t want to turn.” 

Natasha watched him in horrified silence. They had no cure left right now and she wasn’t sure what she would do if Steve turned. 

“Will you—” he fell silent, unable to finish that question. 

But Natasha knew what he meant. Kill him. She rubbed his back a little. “If you show symptoms,” she promised. It was a lie, but she didn’t know what else to say. 

Steve couldn’t move. He looked shell-shocked as he sat and watched the middle distance, waiting for symptoms to appear. Minutes passed and nothing happened. Steve never changed. It had been a theory the lab had about the nature of the cure, but there was no way she would let them test it… With a strange sense of guilt, Natasha realized they couldn’t be infected again. Once they had received the cure, they were immune to Hydra’s virus. 

She gently touched Steve’s arm, and he looked at her pleadingly. It reminded her of the film she had seen of him. Begging for death. He was in shock, still trembling. The blood on his face had dried and his eyes were glazed over, like he couldn’t process everything that had happened. Natasha had seen this look before in other hunters sometimes. It was the look of a broken man. 

“It’s alright, Steve,” she said gently. He didn't seem to comprehend her meaning and she reached up to smooth his hair from his forehead and he blinked at the contact. “You’re not infected,” she said, “You can’t be infected again.” 

A strange little laugh broke from him and he crumpled, sagging against her as he rested his forehead on his arms. Natasha sighed and leaned into him tiredly, resting her head on his shoulder. It would be a long way back home. 

* * *

5\. Old Wounds

Steve was surprised to see Romanoff. He spotted her red hair and his heart sank. He had hoped that nobody would be here. It was weeks since they had saved Bucky and discovered that the cure could be used as a vaccine. It should make him happy, but he wasn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to be. He was dragged down by a sense of gnawing emptiness that he couldn’t escape from and had no desire to. He clung to it tightly, holding it inside him and letting it fester. Usually this place was empty, especially at this time of day, but there she was, gaze fixed on the names on the memorial in silent contemplation. He was about to turn around and leave when she spotted him, her green eyes flicked to him. She seemed surprised to see him there, like this was the last place she would expect him to be. Her surprise was quickly masked with her usual impassive look and she turned back to the memorial quietly. 

Steve exhaled sharply, bristling in discomfort. If he left now it would seem like he was avoiding her. And he was— not her specifically— but this was something he always wanted to do alone. Before he knew it, he was standing at her side, his hands shoved in his pockets. He was never very good at small talk, and Romanoff barely spoke to him at all if she could help it. He hoped she would leave soon. 

“You here to see her?” she said suddenly. It nearly startled him when she spoke, her voice quiet and dusky. He didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded, his eyes tracing Peggy’s name on the memorial. Romanoff shifted silently and tucked those coppery flyaways behind her ear. Steve found himself watching her now, her expression so soft and heartbroken that his lips parted in surprise. She crossed her arms as if trying to hold in all of her pain. 

“What are you doing here?” 

He meant for his question to sound conversational, friendly, but it sounded accusatory instead. Steve kicked himself mentally. She was upset, obviously. And he didn’t have a monopoly on Peggy’s memorial, Romanoff had just as much right to be here as he did. 

But Romanoff smiled a broken little half smile and Steve couldn’t look away from her. She didn’t have to answer him, especially after a stupid question like that, but she did. Her eyes were fixed on the words ahead of her as she spoke. 

“I’ve been… thinking a lot about her lately,” she said softly. “About her work, her life. I think about what she must’ve been feeling. She sacrificed a lot.” 

Steve was struck by how much she seemed to identify with her, how much she seemed to understand her. He swallowed and traced the letters of Peggy’s name again. 

“I wish she’d…” he found himself saying, but he stopped. 

Nobody needed to hear this. He wished she had killed him. He had caused so much misery. He swallowed and studied the ground and he could feel Romanoff’s eyes on him, piercing and luminous. She was always looking at him like that, like she was searching for something in him that he wasn’t sure he had. He hated it. 

“If it were her— if Carter was infected and you had to make the call, would you have done it any different?” she asked. 

He felt heat rise in his cheeks and he shot her a shocked look. She seemed to know what he was thinking and when he met her eye, her expression told him that she did. He frowned, and studied her for a moment— she was patient, her expression soft. But he didn’t want to answer her. He wouldn’t have done it and he didn’t want Romanoff to have the satisfaction of knowing how well she read him. 

But Romanoff just gave him a knowing look and turned away to place a single flower on top of the monument. Its papery red petals fluttered in the breeze, small and fragile on the dark stone slab. She paused for a moment, fingers resting on top of the monument in contemplation, then without another word, Romanoff turned to leave. She would leave him alone like he wanted. He could stand here among the names of the dead, talking to the people who would never again say anything in return. That feeling of terrible emptiness, of unhappiness and isolation gripped him like a vice, squeezing him so unbearably tight. He thought he wanted this feeling— it meant never having to move on, or acknowledging that he was stuck here. But he was tired. He was tired of telling it to the dead. 

He found himself telling Romanoff’s back. The words escaping from him, pouring out before he could stop himself. 

“She… Peggy and me,” he said quietly, “She was my wife.” 

Romanoff turned, a shocked look on her face and Steve swallowed. It felt like a split had burst open inside him and all of this loss was leaking out to slowly drown him. He barely knew how to continue, it hurt so much. So he told it to the ground at Romanoff’s feet. 

“It was a year after the infection. Things seemed so— We didn’t have a lot of hope back then. It just felt like why wait? Why wait when we might not even live to see morning?” He paused, swallowing hard, a short, broken little laugh burst from him at the memory. “She asked me, actually.” 

It felt strange to admit it out loud to a stranger. Nobody aside from a handful of people knew about him and Peggy and they liked it that way. It wasn’t anybody’s business anyhow. But he had loved her from the moment he first saw her. When everything went to shit, she had pulled it together. She pulled him together, too. When he kissed her for the first time, he knew he wanted to marry her. The way she had looked at him, the way she had said his name when their lips parted. He was hers.

In his mind he turned over the words Peggy had written him, never knowing he would read it one day, never knowing he’d be cured. _ I should’ve killed you, _ she had written. _ I wasn’t strong enough to help you. _He balled his hands into tight fists in his pockets and stole a steadying glance at the flower Romanoff had placed on the monument.

“Would she have made a different call if it wasn’t me?” he asked, his voice angry, bitter, “if I never kissed her, never told her I loved her, if I never said yes to her… if I had just kept my stupid, selfish feelings to myself—” 

These were the things he kept locked away. This was the well of ugly, bitter ache that was so deep in him, he couldn’t breathe. He never wanted to speak these words out loud, never wanted to set them free. He meant to carry them with him for the rest of his life, but he couldn’t stop now. He jabbered on at Romanoff like an asshole, dumping all this baggage on a stranger like she was a goddamn bellhop. He didn’t think it was possible to hate himself any more than he did, but here he was. Would Shield have had the cure by now if it weren’t for him? Would Peggy have been happier, would she have been safer if he hadn’t given in to what he felt? These were questions that were impossible to ever answer, but it didn’t stop him from blaming himself. He wished things that were different, he wished that he didn’t have to wake up to this reality. 

He was so angry. It ate him alive every second of every day, squirming in his guts, hot and black and acidic. He never wanted anyone to ever see it. Let them think he was sad, he was grieving and broken. He was those things, too, but he didn’t want anyone to see this rage. But it gripped him now, twisting his insides and making him say things that he was supposed to keep inside him forever. 

“I saw the field report.” he said, “After we saved Clint… I know they didn’t want me to, but I wanted answers…” he paused, remembering what he had read. “I’m the one…” he said bitterly, voice shaking, “I’m the one who tore up our facility, that I— ” 

He couldn’t say it. He wanted to force himself to, to scream it aloud for everyone to hear. He was a murderer, he had snuffed out his friends, slaughtered people he cared about… He had killed her in the end, too. But he couldn’t speak, the words caught in his throat and he blinked angrily, his eyes swimming with furious, bitter tears. He swiped them away with the heel of his hand, trying to collect himself. He was such a joke. 

Steve had been so preoccupied that he didn’t hear Romanoff approach. He didn’t know she was there at all until he felt her gently take hold of his wrists to lower his hands from his face. He was numb, about to snap at her like an animal in a cage when she reached up and smoothed his hair, her thumb tracing the ridges of his cheekbone with a look of such gentle heartbreak that he froze. 

There was that look again. Like she could see straight through him, like she looked past his mask and into the swirl of terrible warring emotion inside him. He never wanted to be seen like this, to be looked at so deeply, so profoundly. It made him feel exposed. He was terrified of what she saw when she looked at him like she did. Hesitantly, Romanoff brushed the tear tracks from his face, her lips parting into a soft expression. She didn’t judge him. She looked at him like she understood.

In an instant his anger dissolved, breaking apart inside him and he froze, his jaw clenched painfully tight. He watched her in disbelief as she pulled away to gently squeeze his arm. All he could do was watch the ground, his hands still tight fists in his pockets. He was breaking. Shattering under her touch. Romanoff withdrew, looking a little embarrassed and crossed her arms. She was so quiet when she spoke, her voice soothing and soft.

“It wasn’t you. Please, Steve, you can’t blame yourself for that. You never would’ve hurt them. You can't blame yourself for what the infection made you.”

Steve grimaced. He was so achingly hollow, so desperately alone. Romanoff swallowed, seeming to catch herself and became closed off again. He was quiet, and she grew increasingly uncomfortable. She shot him one more brief glance and a broken little half smile before she turned to leave, but she stopped suddenly and looked back at him in surprise. He hadn’t realized he had taken her wrist.Those luminous green eyes took in his expression carefully, stripping away whatever defenses he thought he had built. He didn’t know what he was doing when he squeezed her gently. He didn’t know how to ask her to stay with him. But somehow she knew that, too. When she pulled him into her arms he crumpled, folding into her with such terrible desperation. He buried his face into her shoulder, unable to carry this anymore. His grief poured from him like an open wound and he could hardly breathe. 

“I loved her,” he breathed, his hands curling desperately into Romanoff’s jacket. He never even got to say goodbye.

Romanoff held him so tightly, her hand came up to cradle the back of his head, the other smoothed down his spine, coming to rest at the scar on his back like she knew exactly how to find it, and traced it soothingly. 

“She knew that,” she said, “I know she loved you, Steve.” 

It was embarrassing how much he needed to hear that. His knees buckled and somehow Romanoff guided them down to the grass, never letting him go. His breathing became more ragged as a sob worked its way from him and he burrowed against her, hiding his tears in her shoulder. It didn’t matter if what she said was true or not, her words were enough and he finally let go, splintering into a thousand pieces as he sagged against her. He broke down in her arms and she cried with him until the sun dipped low in the sky. 

* * *

6\. Strange Bedfellows

Steve returned to the colonies, broken after this recent mission with Sam. It was supposed to be a simple recon mission and it quickly fell apart when Hydra ambushed them. Half of the team didn’t make it back, Sam was badly injured, and Steve was barely on his feet. He was numb when they arrived, barely dragging Sam to the base for treatment. Sam was whisked away before Steve even knew which way was up and he was taken to medical for an examination. That terrible anger gripped him again, twisting his insides. He should’ve done more, he should’ve known… After he was discharged, Steve found himself wandering in a daze that he couldn’t pull himself from. Everything around him threatened to shake apart, to crumble beneath him and when he finally realized he was nowhere near his room, he stopped. He looked around with a little frown, unsure of how he had gotten here. This was Romanoff’s room. He paused outside the door, staring blankly at the plain surface. What the hell was he doing here? He hadn’t seen her since he had that meltdown by Peggy’s memorial and felt much too shy and embarrassed to find her again. She ran her missions and he ran his and that was that. But he stood outside her room now, numb and exhausted and unsure of what he was even looking for anymore. He was about to leave, to go back to his own room and rest when a soft voice made him freeze. 

“Steve?” 

It was her. She had on a tank top and shorts, revealing the freckled skin of her shoulders and collarbone— even her knees had them. She held a toothbrush in her hand and a towel was draped over her shoulder. It occurred to him that it was late at night. He should really say something, do _ something _ other than stare at her. But Steve just blinked like he was surprised that she would be here— outside of her room… He tried to collect himself enough to answer her, but he was empty. Romanoff took one look at him, battered and shell-shocked, and gently approached to take him by the arm. 

Steve inhaled, there was a magnetic pull deep in him that begged to be touched. He wanted it so badly. “What happened?” she asked softly. 

That split inside him widened again, and he just shook his head, unable to answer her. Romanoff turned from him and he was immediately sorry for the loss of contact. It was stupid of him to be here, selfish even. She wasn’t his emotional support, it wasn’t fair that he did this to her. Romanoff just opened the door to her room and took his hand. He followed her inside as if he was in a dream. It was plain, just the same as his, save for the little potted rosemary plant sitting on her dresser. The room felt much too small for two people and Steve felt out of place when she sat him on her little bed. Romanoff left the room briefly and Steve stared blankly at the plant on her dresser, surveying its jagged little leaves. It smelled nice. Romanoff returned and set something down on her desk before she tugged open her drawers and tossed a shirt at him. He looked at it dumbly, unsure of what was happening. Romanoff looked at him briefly before she gently grasped the hem of his shirt and pulled it up. Steve didn’t have the energy to resist, or even ask what she was doing, he just raised his arms with a pained grunt and let her strip his shirt from him. His gaze was fixed on the floor where she tossed his shirt— still soaked in his and Sam's blood.

Oh. 

He wanted to apologize, but Romanoff was already cleaning him off as best as she could with a damp cloth. She pulled his head to rest on her shoulder while she worked and Steve sighed, his eyes sliding shut. She smelled nice too. She was gentle, but the stitches on his side hurt when he breathed, his back was badly bruised and he grunted when she moved him. She wrung out her cloth and wet it again to wipe down his chest and shoulders. He grunted, a painful contusion marked his sternum and Romanoff’s gentle gaze flicked to his briefly. Steve swallowed, the fog lifting slightly from his mind. What was he doing? He shouldn’t be here. But before he could say anything, Romanoff was pulling him up to stand and he flinched when she unbuckled his belt, and stripped his pants from him as well. She was businesslike, matter of fact about it— like she had done this a thousand times before, but Steve was immediately muddled. 

He froze, his pants around his thighs and Romanoff sighed and pushed him to sit so she could pull them off of him. His pants were just as bloodied and ruined as his shirt and they joined it in the heap on the floor. Romanoff turned to put away some of the items and organize her drawers again and Steve felt the heat creep into his face as he watched her. He was in his under layer shorts, but the embarrassment and impropriety of this began to seep its way through his scrambled brain. He gripped the clean shirt Romanoff had thrown at him and, with some degree of difficulty, managed to put it on. He felt the fabric over his chest, his hand pausing over the contusion with a little wince. Romanoff turned back to him and tilted her head a little. 

“Steve,” She said quietly. 

He was still here— what an ass. She probably wanted to go to bed. He grunted and pushed himself to stand but she stopped him with a gentle touch on his shoulder. “Do you want to stay?” 

Steve’s brow furrowed as he watched her, but the emptiness inside him didn’t want to resist. He sagged tiredly, his knees like jelly. He couldn’t even respond. But Romanoff gave him that discerning look before she silently turned and flicked off the lights. Relief flooded his body when she gave him a gentle push to lie down on her bed. Empty longing consumed him and he drifted down to the mattress as if in a dream. Silently, Romanoff climbed into bed with him and he turned on his side to make room for her. Hesitantly she curled into him, her arms snaked around his waist to hold him, her face pressed between his shoulder blades, her knees slotted perfectly behind his. 

“Is this okay?” She asked, her breath hot on his back. 

Steve could feel himself uncoil, tension eased from his body and his eyes slid half closed. He just nodded weakly in response and Romanoff nestled into him. The terrible emptiness, the loneliness and grief and anger subsided a little and his eyes fluttered shut. If he wasn’t so exhausted, he could’ve given more thought to how much he had missed being held by her. He felt guilty for using her like this and was of half a mind to leave, but Romanoff pressed into him tightly and the pressure held him together. It felt so good. He felt like he could breathe again.

They never spoke of that night and continued on with their lives as if it never happened. Steve was in recovery and often checked in on Sam, Romanoff ran short supply missions with her team. It was almost a week before Steve was consumed by that anger again, the grief and emptiness widened like a black hole in his heart. It was too much to bear and he found himself outside of Romanoff’s room again, drawn there like a moth to flame. His heart raced as he watched the door, unable to make himself knock, unable to turn around and leave. But she must've heard him, because her door opened and she stepped out into the hall. He never had to say anything, she just silently took his hand as she had done before and led him in and that was that. Steve hated himself for needing her like this. He was burdening her with his grief again, but there wasn’t anyone else he felt he could turn to. Bucky had his own troubles, and he’d never put this on Sam, not after what he had done to him as an infected. But Romanoff was patient, intuitive. He opened up to her once before and he didn’t know how to stop now. 

Steve endeavoured to leave her alone after that. She didn’t need that in her life, it wasn’t fair to her. It had been three days since their last… whatever that was. He always slipped away in the early morning and returned to his own room. They still never spoke about it. Steve sighed and inspected himself in the mirror hanging in his room, he smoothed a hand over his unshaven cheek tiredly. That deep emptiness gnawed at him, but he could learn to manage on his own, to find a better outlet for his grief than crawling into Romanoff’s bed. A soft knock on his door startled him and before he could even open it, Romanoff had slipped into his room and shut the door behind her. She looked so uncertain, so shy as she watched him. There was a beat where they just watched one another and Romanoff’s expression became more and more uncomfortable. Watching her stand there, small and alone, it dawned on Steve that she was using him just as much as he was her. He clenched his jaw and strode over to the door. For a brief moment, she looked terrified he might throw her out or ask her to leave, but Steve just switched off the lights. There was a brief pause before she leaned into him so desperately, her arms wrapped around him so tightly. He had to wonder why— she was so closed off most of the time, so distant, but her mask slipped in the darkness of his room and whatever pain she kept inside her came leaking out. Steve could only try and give her a measure of what she had given him. She felt so small in his arms as he lifted her up and carried her to bed.

* * *

7\. What's in a Name

It was a grey and miserable night. Rain poured down in slanted sheets, streaking the windows of the sleeping quarters when Natasha returned, chilled and soaking wet. It had been a rough week— Hydra wasn’t going down without a fight. She and Clint had been delivering the cure, but arrived at a smoking ruin. There were no survivors and they lost that batch of the cure, too. They were lucky to be alive. Clint sighed heavily after check-in. He rubbed his neck and shot her a dry smile. 

“Can’t win them all,” he said. Natasha was numb. She wanted nothing more than to sleep. Clint nudged her gently. “Get some rest, Tasha.” 

And with that, she made her way to her room. When she passed the common room, she stopped in the doorway. Steve was there. He was curled up by the window dressed in a thick, navy pullover sweater. He had taken his boots off, socked feet tucked beneath him as he sat, brow creased in concentration, with his head leaning on his hand. He sighed and absently massaged at his neck before rubbing his face like he was trying to work something out. Natasha imagined the scratch of stubble against his palm as he worked. A mug of something cooled idly on the table in front of him, steam curling into fading tendrils. This sight was so foreign, so new to her that she froze. Natasha felt for the first time that she was seeing _ him _. This wasn’t Captain America, or Shield’s hunter, or even the Steve that she knew. This was Steve Rogers. He was drawing something, so intensely focused that he didn’t notice her at first until he glanced up, catching sight of her in a double take. He saw something in her expression and got up to take her to her room.

Natasha was pulled from sleep when Steve started beside her. She lay with her back to his and she could feel Steve’s heart pounding through the mattress. He exhaled shakily and Natasha shifted over, sleep drifting from her. 

“Bad dream?” she asked. 

Steve sighed and remained facing away from her. Steve sniffed and moved to wipe his eyes. She rolled over to face his back. “Stupid… Why am I crying?” he muttered sheepishly. 

“You wanna talk about it?” she offered, nuzzling into her pillow. He was quiet for a while and Natasha’s eyes fluttered shut. 

“I dreamt about you,” he said softly. “I was afraid. We were in... I dunno some kinda field and I was more scared than anything I’d ever felt. It felt like my skin was on fire, but you just kept smiling at me…”

Natasha swallowed hard and this time, Steve turned to face her, his eyes searching her in the darkness. Hesitantly, he reached out and tucked her flyaways behind her ear before his hand came to rest on her hip. He looked like he had a thousand questions. Natasha just watched him, her heart soft, broken. It hurt to hear him talk about that day. It hurt that he dreamt about it.

“Romanoff…” 

She gripped her pillow tightly, gaze fixed on his chest. “Natasha,” she corrected softly. 

Steve paused, frozen. His hand was still on her waist and he shifted closer, settling down beside her. His breath was warm against her neck when he spoke. 

“...Natasha,” he said as if testing out how it sounded. 

She couldn’t help how it made her feel. Warmth burst through her in a tingling rush and she curled inward. She didn’t think that she would feel this way about him— he wasn’t her Steve. But in so many ways, he was. It was easy with him, it always had been. He made it so easy for her to love him. She had never stopped, no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t stop herself from loving him. Steve saw something in her expression that made him soften and he left his questions for another time.

“Sorry for waking you,” he said and she hid her face in the hollow of his throat.

* * *

8\. It's Exactly Like That

“So you and Romanoff,” Bucky said, his attention focused on dangling a piece of string for the stray cat that had been hanging around his place to play with. 

Steve rubbed his neck sheepishly, not wanting to talk about it. “What about it?” 

Bucky didn’t say anything, he just jerked the string and laughed when the cat pounced for it. Steve watched the smile on his friend’s face, his heart full. Sam must’ve been talking to him. He spent more time in Natasha’s room than his own and Sam had found him there enough times that he stopped going to Steve’s room to look for him at all. 

“It’s not like that,” Steve said. 

It was difficult to define what he had with Natasha. They had a strangely professional relationship— they were partners. But they had a level of intimacy that had grown in the past few weeks. He was learning to trust her in ways that he never felt before. Bucky shot him a wry look and snorted like he didn’t believe him and Steve felt heat creep into his cheeks.

“Sure, Steve,” he said with a sly grin. 

Behind them, footsteps approached and Bucky turned when the cat ran off to play with the approaching visitor. Steve rolled his eyes, he turned to say something. Retort in some way, but his words died in his throat when he turned around. Natasha was smiling. 

Her lips were curved into a beautiful little half smile as she pet the cat and murmured sweet little phrases in Russian. Her eyes sparkled with humour. Steve watched her, struck dumb. She smiled so rarely. Natasha laughed, smoothing the little stray’s fur as it butted its head into her hand. He’d never heard her laugh before. 

It was as if he was seeing her for the first time again— she had caught him off guard that day. He had gone to thank the woman who saved him and found _ her _— hands covered with dirt, her red hair pulled back in a fiery, molten braid, skin like cream with rosy tinted cheeks and full lips. He was captivated by her freckles. They were innumerable, scattered across her cheeks and forehead and nose, even down her graceful neck and shoulders and arms like stars in the sky. When she'd looked at him then, he couldn't help but smile. Her eyes were deep green like fir needles, she had little purple smudges of dark circles under them. She was a collection of features like a living work of art. He’d never seen anyone like her before. And now she was smiling at him again. Natasha glanced at him, her large eyes searching. 

It made his heart leap into his throat. 

“We’ve got a mission,” she said. 

It took him a moment to respond. “I’ll be there in a minute,” he said. 

She smirked, and scratched the cat under its chin before she stood and left him standing in the yard with Bucky. 

“It’s not like that, huh?” He said, nudging Steve. 

“Shut up,” he said, his cheeks flushing furiously. 

* * *

9\. Liberation Day 

In the two years since he had woken up, Steve had found a way to move forward. Despite his best efforts, Steve had made connections, he had planted roots. It was strange to think about now. Fireworks burst overhead in a beautiful array of light and sound in the evening sky. Everything was still so surreal, but he could face this at last. Beside him, Natasha watched the display, unable to hide the wonder in her eyes. She hadn’t seen anything like this before and he watched the burst of red, and green and blue illuminate her face. She was the first person he wanted to see when he heard the news and he found her, offering her a bottle of homemade champagne that one of the colony farmers made as a hobby. Hydra was driven from France at last. Things would be in turmoil for a long time, Europe was still largely under Hydra control, but this was a victory worth celebrating. 

Natasha’s eyes sparkled, a soft grin on her face as she watched the burst of colours above. She took a sip of the champagne and choked, turning to him as she wiped her mouth. 

“Steve what the hell is this stuff?” She laughed, bright and warm and kind before it was drowned out in the next burst of light and sound overhead.

It felt like the most natural thing in the world to laugh with her, to be by her side. She nudged him and took another sip, the fireworks bursting above and she watched. Her smile was everything. As the vibrant blue light sparkled and faded, Steve leaned in and kissed her for the first time. 

Her lips were soft, the fizzy bite of champagne still on her tongue. She unfurled to him like a flower to the sun and he kissed her until she was breathless. She pulled away to tell him something they both already knew. 

“I love you,” she whispered against his lips. 

Steve smiled at that. His heart nearly beat out of his chest. It was like falling into something so inevitable, so familiar— like he had done it a dozen times before. She had him from the moment she first smiled at him and called him by his name. Natasha smiled and kissed him deeply. When her lips touched his he knew he’d keep falling for her a thousand times more in a thousand different ways. It was strange, but he was so happy. It as if he was finally hearing something she had meant to say a long time ago.

“I love you,” he whispered back. 

He was home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it's for real finished! I don't know why I chose to just write you another Steve/Nat fic lol, but there you are. Let me know what your fave segment was! 
> 
> My next few projects will probably be MUCH shorter and oneshots lol. But I've got some multichapter AUs in me still. 
> 
> Follow me on twitter (@YeetaNo) for updates on future fics, polls and the opportunity to vote on things I might be writing, and artwork. 
> 
> Thanks everybody! Stay safe out there!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [For Whose Coffee I Trip and Fall](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27790858) by [Junoro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Junoro/pseuds/Junoro), [Yeetmeaway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yeetmeaway/pseuds/Yeetmeaway)


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